


mon coeur est un violon

by bleulily (wollstoncrafts)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 20s au, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - The Princess and the Frog (2009) Fusion, Fairy Tale Curses, Jazz Age, M/M, Magic, True Love's Kiss, enjolras and grantaire are rats (not clickbait)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-08-20 07:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wollstoncrafts/pseuds/bleulily
Summary: Grantaire laughed again. “Well, how do you expect to find my so called true love within a few days span? Don’t people spend their entire lives searching for their other halves, like the Greek myths?” he teased. “Or were you planning to kiss me yourself?”“I’m not going to kiss a rat,” Enjolras affirmed.[A Princess and the Frog retelling]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse to this other than self indulgence. I love true love's kiss type of stories, and I love the princess and the frog, and I thought Enjolras and Grantaire would fit perfectly in this au. Threw in some Ratatouille references into this too just for safe measure. That being said though, I did change a lot of things from the original story, including the curse and how to break it. I won't elaborate anymore on that, just hope that everyone who reads this enjoys it.
> 
> I've already finished writing this fic, so updates will come every Monday and Friday, probably a tad bit late in the day since classes have already started for me, but still on time nonetheless. 
> 
> Many thanks to my friend [ Paria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laallomri/pseuds/laallomri) who helped me beta-read this fic.
> 
> Title comes from the song by Lucienne Boyer

_ “Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a princess who hated castles. She’d been born with an innate talent, a voice that would pierce the hearts of all those who heard her, and a knack to paint the most incredible murals all over her kingdom. But no matter how much her father, the king, insisted, he couldn’t bring himself to make her live in a castle. _

_ “She was adventurous at heart, a wild soul who wandered through the gardens of any palace she was near, and the forest which had been forbidden to her as a child. She liked to climb up the trees to talk to the birds, the squirrels, and the mice who lived in the gardens. She would sing to them and show them her portraits, for the animals were her closest friends; but one day she was to find, she would become one of them. _

_ “The princess didn’t have many enemies--not as many as her father anyway--but there was a young witch who envied her many talents and ability to sing. He was a rowdy and unpleasant young man, the kind that would have puppies running away whenever he entered a place. People from the kingdom avoided him at all costs, his lack of charisma pushing everyone away. Many said it was a curse that had been set upon him, plenty even rumoured he had done it to himself in an attempt to become a more powerful witch, but no one knew the truth, not until he faced the princess. _

_ “It was her eighteenth birthday, the day she would step out into the world as her father’s next in line. Her mother had invited all sorts of guests to her celebration--a party that would last for a fortnight until the summer solstice. But the princess wanted no more of that life, for she had tired of greeting guests she hardly even knew, and so the evening of her long awaited birthday, she walked into the gardens as her mother spoke vividly to each of their guests. _

_ “It was a rather quiet night; the squirrels were asleep, and the birds chirped away far from the castle and the birthday celebrations. The princess sat before a fountain and sighed in despair, but she stopped herself from crying when she noticed a little mouse had walked toward her skirts to greet her. It handed over a golden button--a present to congratulate her for her birthday. She took it from its hands gently, and smiled fondly as she pressed a kiss onto its forehead. The mouse squeaked in delight, but that wasn’t the only noise coming from the garden, and she quickly turned her head to face the intruder. _

_ “A young man stood in the gardens, his expression almost fond. He offered the princess an apology for intruding, then explained he was also rather fond of mice. The princess, although reserved and keen on her moments of loneliness, offered him a seat beside her. The mouse quickly jumped to the young man’s lap, squeaking excitedly, and together, they talked about their furry friends for hours to no end. _

_ “When midnight came, the princess returned to her chambers with a smile on her face, the little mouse quickly following her. But what she found there was not at all what she expected, as there was already someone else sitting at the edge of her bed--the young witch bearing a malicious smile, ready to bite. _

_ “The princess screamed in horror, her hands quickly searching for the doorknob to escape, but the young witch caught her wrist before she could run away, and with a flick of his hand, the princess’ world turned small. _

_ “She turned to look at him disdainfully, her now smaller body jumping to try to be on his level, but her attempts were feeble, and he laughed cruelly. He mentioned how he had been following her around for a while, and how he had quickly learned that the princess was a friend of the animals, especially those as soft and squeaky as the mice. He told her she would no longer be burdened by living in a castle, and that now she could join the other mice to live in perpetual joy. But the princess felt a tug in her gut. _

_ “The young witch ran away, the royal family unable to hear any helpless squeak the princess mustered. A search party was set out to find her, the king and queen horrified upon finding their daughter had gone missing. They searched for the princess for days and days, but there was no sign of her anywhere, not when she was but a little creature now living in the forest. _

_ “It was the young man who shared her love of rodents who found her one day stumbling upon a twig. He didn’t recognise her at first, not when she was so little, and curious, and grey. He took her in his hands and spoke to her gently, his voice eager to learn whatever a mouse could possibly be doing in the dark forest when all the other mice were away having dinner in the castle’s pantry. It was then that she discovered she could still talk like a human princess, and with one word from her mouth she explained what the young witch had done to her. _

_ “The young man ran to the castle then, bearing the news of the princess to the king and queen. Doctors from all over the kingdom were sent to her chambers to find a cure to her strange illness, but none of them had ever been able to help a princess turned into a mouse before. The king, upon seeing the doctors were unable to bring his daughter back, sent a knight in search of the young witch who had done this to his daughter. The young witch, expecting the king’s orders, turned the knight into a parrot before he set himself to the castle on his own. _

_ "He offered a deal to the king: the inheritance of the crown in exchange for a cure to the princess’s illness. The king, hesitant, turned to his advisors for a response. They offered him different ideas, one of them saying the young witch seemed clever enough to be his successor, the other one arguing that this young man would be nothing but a tyrant. But the third, a young man not much older than the young witch himself, explained that a young witch like this could be easily tricked; and so the king turned to the witch and offered his acceptance. _

_ “The young witch jumped excitedly and gave the king detailed instructions. He said the curse could only be broken by a true love’s kiss, and it could only be done the night of the summer solstice. The king turned to his advisors in question, then headed to his daughter’s chambers to explain the whole ordeal. Every woman in the room turned the place into commotion, but the princess quickly spoke to her father, asking for the young man who had found her to have a word with her before he parted for the forest. _

_ “The young pair exchanged a few words as the king prepared everything for the summer solstice, where the announcement of the new successor was to take place. She asked for the young man to accompany her through the ceremony, and read for her as they waited for night to fall. The young man, courageous as he was, was not the most clever, and he was confused over such instructions, but he did not dwell on them for long. _

_ “When night fell, the young pair sat beside the fountain where they’d first met, and the princess, bold as she was, asked the young man if he had ever kissed a mouse. The young man looked at her confused before he shook his head, and the princess then stood on her toes to look him in the eye. When the young man realised what the princess was quietly asking from him, he lifted her up, and tried to press a kiss to her lips, but he was quickly interrupted by the young witch offering a speech. _

_ "He looked at the young pair, his eyes full of such concern the princess had never seen before. She turned to look at the clock hanging from the castle, which the king had had placed there as a means to count down the moments before the summer solstice, and the princess realised then why the young witch tried to stop her. _

_ “She ran towards the witch, the young man following her, then with a resolute voice, she told the young witch he could never stop her. The witch, now furious, quickly turned to her and squeezed her into his hand. The princess protested and bit into his thumb, but the witch’s hold was too tight. Nevertheless, the young man had already walked towards them, and with a swing of his knife he cut through the young witch’s hand. He grabbed the princess carefully, the crowd erupting into elated cheers, and with a quick look at the clock, he turned to the princess and kissed her tenderly; breaking the young witch’s curse, and taking the young witch away into the hands of the knights who would later detain him.” _

“And did they live happily ever after?” Courfeyrac inquired excitedly. “They had to live happily ever after.”

Marion Enjolras laughed, her voice sweet as honey. Her long curly hair had fallen to her shoulders, tired lines shadowing her eyes, but she offered the young boy a smile. “The witch most certainly did not, but I can assure you, the princess and the young man did, and the mice who were their friends lived a happy life as well.”

“This story is ridiculous,” Enjolras argued. He turned to his mother in disbelief, but she could only smile. “I don’t understand why anyone could possibly want to kiss a mouse.”

“I think it’s romantic,” Cosette interjected, her eyes lost in the ceiling before her. She was lying down with her arms spread as though she were lying on snow. She was dreaming away into her own fairytale world, and Enjolras couldn’t find it in himself to interrupt her. “I want to kiss my true love to break a curse.”

“It _ is _romantic,” Courfeyrac declared, “to find true love and fight all evil. It doesn’t matter if you kiss a mouse or a bear. True love will always win.”

Enjolras scrunched up his nose in disgust, then turned to his mother who quietly laughed. “I would never kiss an animal, true love or not. It’s nasty.”

His mother shook her head and pulled him up from his seat. She smiled gently, her hands softly rubbing on his stomach as she blew a stray hair from his face. There were noises coming from outside of Courfeyrac’s room, and he knew it was time for him and his mother to return to their small chambers. He turned to Cosette, who was still laying on the floor, looking at the ceiling wistfully, then turned to the door with concern. Cosette’s own mother would walk inside at any moment, and distract her from her dreams.

“Mama, can’t we wait for Cosette’s own bedtime before we leave?” he asked gently. “The last time we left before her, Félix was mean to her.”

“Darling--.”

“I wasn’t mean to her!” Courfeyrac exclaimed. “I only argued with her about the possibility of you ever finding your true love.”

Enjolras huffed and rolled his eyes. “I told you I’m not interested in these silly fairytales happening to me, and I do not wish to kiss any rodents even if it means to kiss my true love.”

Courfeyrac laughed and sat beside Cosette who had already stirred from her position to face both boys. “I don’t want to part ways to bed if it means you two are arguing again. My mother won’t be happy if I tell her sad stories about my day.”

Enjolras’ mother placed him on the floor then, and turned to Cosette, her face softening. “Your mother asked me to take you home tonight, so we won’t have to wait around until she arrives before we leave. Do you think you’ll be ready?”

Cosette turned to the two boys then, her eyes curious. “Will you two stop fighting for tonight? Maybe if we leave now she might cook some crêpes for us to dine tomorrow?”

Enjolras and Courfeyrac exchanged a look then nodded excitedly, their eyes widening at the prospect. Enjolras noticed Courfeyrac had sat cross-legged, and Enjolras quickly tried to mimic the pose, before his mother offered her hand for him to sit again. She giggled softly as she pulled young Cosette into her arms, then gave each of the children a gentle look. “I will cook each of you crêpes for breakfast tomorrow. That is, if you behave well through the course of the day,” she offered.

Enjolras grinned, then turned to bid Courfeyrac goodbye, quickly making a note to mention his mother was the best cook in town. But instead of smiling, the young boy regarded him carefully. “You know, Enjolras. My mother often used to say you should never say you shall never do something.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes but made sure to wave the boy goodbye. The next day it would all be forgotten.

* * *

**1925**

  


Michel Enjolras was a charming and hard-working young man, beloved by every single one of his customers. There wasn’t a single order he couldn’t memorise, nor a regular customer he couldn’t recognise. He was known through Montparnasse for his excellent service and tireless smile. _ The best waiter in the left bank of Paris _, they would often call him, a name that had chased him for several years now.

But despite the hours of work and the endless list of names that sought him, Enjolras found himself restless by his job, as there was one goal he sought and nothing could ever pull his finger from it. It was a promise he had made to his mother at a very young age, a faraway dream that only sleepless nights could help him fulfill. And every day he grew closer to his dream, with every tip and every cent his customers shared with him.

He planned to spend all his savings in an empty lot at the corner of the Rue Daguerre, the perfect place for his mother to have her own restaurant. He had envisioned the place for many years now, its yellow walls and grand piano sitting amidst the chairs and tables. He would decorate it with red tulips, his mother’s favourite flowers, and bring the most acclaimed jazz musicians to play for his mother every evening. He planned to do it for his mother’s birthday, to make it the perfect gift he could give to the wonderful woman who had given him life.

He stood behind the counter with Éponine and Combeferre by his sides, counting all the money he had gained the previous night. If he and Combeferre were right, he would have gathered all the money he needed to buy the lot in a fortnight, the perfect timing for Enjolras’ mother to celebrate her birthday with the most delightful news. Enjolras was growing eager, with each new day bringing him closer to stepping into a restaurant that belonged to his mother and himself.

“Do you think I might be able to convince Monsieur Durand to allow me some extra hours this week-end? I know there’s no rush to reaching my goal, as I’m sure Combeferre’s calculations are correct, but I don’t want to ruin my chances in case an emergency comes,” Enjolras said softly, a pen hanging from behind his ear as he stared at the paper pensively.

Combeferre had written down their sums as Monsieur Durand attended to an old friend while the three of them had their break. He would always carry the silly little notepad around to make notes of the books he had been studying, his heart unable to leave any sort of lines in books that didn’t belong to him. “I think it might be a good idea for you to spend less time here and more time outside going to clubs with your friends and spending a good summer. You must be so tired already of all this.”

Éponine laughed. “As if he’s ever gonna rest until he buys that lot. Give it to Enjolras to work harder in the summertime when there are more clients and he gets the bigger tips.”

Enjolras regarded her haughtily, his delicate chin up in the air. “My mother’s birthday’s in a fortnight, I’m not going to stop working in the middle of a day because my friends would rather go to a club that’s almost as crowded as this restaurant. If I was any bothered to meet new people and pass my time, then I have plenty of that in here. There’s no need for me to look elsewhere.”

Éponine rolled her eyes and walked towards the entrance to attend to a young couple about to walk in. It was the first time they had ever been to La Maison Rosé; Enjolras could tell from the uncertainty in their eyes, and the way they walked slowly, admiring the walls of the small restaurant. Enjolras had also never seen them before, and he wondered for a moment if they had come to them from America. He made a mental note to attend to them the next time they returned.

“So what do you plan to do if Monsieur Durand refuses to give you extra hours to work this week-end? I’m sure he has a mindset quite similar to Combeferre’s. There’s no reason for you to work over hours when everyone else is enjoying their evenings in the streets.”

“I’m quite certain Monsieur Durand wouldn’t mind a new addition ready to help him attend to his restaurant on days when there are plenty more customers,” Enjolras stated. “I know we’re not the only waiters who work here, but a man like him would never refuse a helping hand. I have to get that money somehow, Éponine.”

“Money?” a distinguishable voice said behind Enjolras. Enjolras turned to find Monsieur Courfeyrac standing in the doorway, his dark, short hair shining against the morning sunlight. His fair, brown skin was a beautiful contrast to the bright yellow walls of the restaurant--a masterpiece of colours. “Whatever for? Don’t tell me you’ve become a gambler, my young Enjolras. I could have sworn you were as honest a person as your lovely mother.”

Enjolras smiled and uttered a quick apology as he guided Monsieur Courfeyrac through the restaurant towards an empty table. He immediately wrote down the old man’s order, knowing it by memory. “Not at all, monsieur,” he answered courteously. “It is for my mother, actually. Her birthday’s in two weeks and I’ve been planning a surprise for her in the past seven years, by saving money to buy a lot at the Rue Daguerre where we’ll build a restaurant for her together.”

Monsieur Courfeyrac smiled, his eyes shining. “I admire your tenacity, young Enjolras. You have grown into quite an admirable man,” the old man said gently. He waited for Enjolras to finish writing down his order, then quirked an eyebrow. “Have you also considered all the extra costs it would take to build this restaurant of yours? Is the lot already furnished? Do you have a menu already, and all the food you would need to consider?”

Enjolras shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t counted all those goals yet, but I have more or less of an idea of how much all of these things would cost. I’m sure that in around five years, the restaurant will be up and running.”

Monsieur Courfeyrac laughed and shook his head. “Oh, my dear boy,” he uttered, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll help you and your mother build this restaurant of your dreams, if you help me up with a little event I want to run. I need the kind of attitude you have and your ability to see little details.”

Enjolras cocked his head curiously and nodded. “Whatever you want me to do, I’m sure I’ll be able to manage.”

Monsieur Courfeyrac smiled. “I’m positive you will,” he said. He pushed the chair beside him for Enjolras to sit down, then made a gesture to explain Enjolras would idly chat with him for a moment, as Monsieur Durand turned his head to their direction. “There’s a new young man in town, haven’t you heard?”

Enjolras shook his head, never really having been interested in rumours. He thought perhaps his dear friend Courfeyrac would have made a comment on the matter, but to be true, Enjolras couldn’t remember. “Mustn’t be a surprise, with how attractive Paris is to young gentlemen and ladies such as myself. Particularly the artistically inclined.”

“No, indeed,” Monsieur Courfeyrac agreed, “and it’s a beautiful city, if I must say so myself. However, this young man is set in becoming the most popular man in Montparnasse, in only a few days upon his arrival.”

“Is that so?” Enjolras asked, amused, “I imagine Félix doesn’t like the competition.”

“Oh no, Félix hasn’t uttered a word about the matter!” Monsieur Courfeyrac explained. “In truth I wonder if he knows at all. But I don’t like to see my family be disrespected, and to throw a party every weekend without bothering to send out an invitation is atrocious! We are practically neighbours.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Three parties,” Monsieur Courfeyrac explained, “two of them leading up to the last one, which will be a party to celebrate the summer solstice. I need you to plan them thoroughly, make a guest list for each, find me decorations, choose every drink, and most importantly: I would like you to cook for them, as I’m sure you have inherited your mother’s gift.”

Enjolras regarded him. “Three parties in the span of the next three weeks. I’m sure I can make it work. I would need to talk to Monsieur Durand to fix my schedule, but I’m sure I can manage it all on time.”

Monsieur Courfeyrac opened his mouth to speak, his eyes glinting with joy, but before he could muster a word, Combeferre walked to Enjolras’ table, his face full of concern. 

“Enjolras!” he exclaimed. “I know you might be busy at the moment, but there’s a situation that might need handling.”

Enjolras regarded the seriousness in Combeferre’s eyes, then turned to Monsieur Courfeyrac, who watched the scene unfold with curious eyes. Enjolras offered Combeferre the paper with Monsieur Courfeyrac’s order, asking him to attend to him in Enjolras’ absence, then turned to the monsieur to offer an apology, and a word of hope to be in touch with each other very soon, before he walked towards Monsieur Durand to inquire about the situation.

There was a violinist in Montparnasse who Enjolras had seen on many an occasion. He was handsome in a ragged sort of way, with dark curly hair and deep brown eyes. A strangely playful young man, with a scruffy beard, and a fruity voice. He would often walk around the streets of the neighborhood singing and playing songs, making everyone near him hop onto the cobblestones to dance to some newly found jig he would adeptly interpret. 

Enjolras could remember in detail the first time he had seen him. It was a lovely evening, and Parisians had gathered to celebrate the night with their friends. Enjolras had been working extra hours to help Monsieur Durand attend to more customers. The violinist had walked into the restaurant playing a jazz song Enjolras once heard over the radio that Éponine would often set up at the restaurant. He smiled at Enjolras, a glint of curiosity in his eyes, and said, very casually, that Enjolras _ should dance _.

Enjolras did not make much of the whole interaction ever since. He knew the man to be a violinist, an artist even, if Éponine’s comments later that day were true--but his fancy, polished clothes, they were a much clearer explanation to the man’s silly request. A young man of money wouldn’t understand.

“Gentlemen,” Enjolras said haughtily, “I hate to interrupt whatever this may be, but if you’d be so kind, would you mind taking it elsewhere?”

He stood before the two men in a table outside. The windy chill of summer grazed his cheeks, the promise of rain welcoming him into the afternoon making his heart warm. He realised the violinist had stopped playing, his eyes wide and surprised upon seeing Enjolras again. The man beside him gave Enjolras a side glance, a certain snarkiness shaking on his lips. He didn’t seem pleased to have been interrupted, but he wasn’t pleased by the violinist either.

“Pardon me, monsieur, we were just playing a game of cards earlier, and the gentleman beside me wasn’t very lucky on the match. I’m sure it’s not such a big deal, there was no harm done with my celebratory song. Every man likes to celebrate when they have been rewarded with six coins by sheer luck,” the violinist explained, his lips upturned into a sly smile. The man beside him huffed.

“_No harm done_,” the man grunted, “To mock your opponents? These young men never know who they mess around with. I’ll show you harm--”

“Gentlemen,” Enjolras insisted.

The violinist and his companion stood up from their seats. The man offered Enjolras a nasty glare--something he was used to from plenty a rowdy customer--but the violinist studied him, a curious glint in his eye, much like the first time they had seen each other. He hesitated for a moment, his lips parting in a request, but he shook his head and started to walk away from Enjolras and the restaurant, not bothering to look back before Enjolras stopped him--only for a brief moment, to offer him a few cents as a means of gratitude for his music. The man looked perplexed before his lips turned into a sly smile, then with a nod, he walked away.

Enjolras walked back into the restaurant, the sweet smell of food filling his nostrils. He bowed his head to greet Monsieur Durand, who looked at him expectantly, then smiled at Éponine and Combeferre, who stared at him curiously, both sharing a look that signified an afternoon of inquiries for Enjolras.

“I hope you didn’t abandon Monsieur Courfeyrac in my absence,” Enjolras greeted them. “He leaves a generous tip every time he comes here.”

“He did,” Combeferre replied with a smile, his index finger sliding over the tip of his nose to fix his spectacles. “He inquired after Monsieur Durand’s well-being, and mentioned how proud he is of the man you have become.”

“How will you manage to cook something for three parties in the next three weeks, is what I truly wonder,” Éponine interjected.

“You overheard, then,” Enjolras observed. “It might not be too terrible.”

Éponine shook her head and laughed. “You might have to warn every guest about possible food poisoning, but I suppose we shall see how you manage all else.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to argue, but he quickly set himself afoot when he realised a new customer was approaching. It was one of their regulars, a young black woman that reminded Enjolras of his own vivacious mother. Enjolras had heard about her before she became a regular customer; she was a famous blues singer, and a talented one at that. She was one of Enjolras’ favourite customers.

“If you attend Mademoiselle Barker today, then you must reserve me the spot for the next time she comes,” Éponine whispered to Enjolras.

“Aren’t you going to that girl club later this evening?” Combeferre interjected. He stared at Éponine suspiciously, a certain mirth in his voice. Éponine threw him a murderous look. “I do recall it being Friday today, or am I wrong?”

“Fine,” she argued, “but if neither of you ever allows me the chance to talk to Mademoiselle Barker, I might be forced to pretend neither of you were ever my friends to begin with. Now back to work, the two of you.”

Enjolras grabbed his pen and notepad, then walked towards Mademoiselle Barker with a smile.

* * *

  


Rainy evenings in Paris weren’t uncommon, especially not as summer approached. Enjolras was quite used to it, as it reminded him of the years he spent living at the Courfeyrac household, with his mother rushing around the kitchens preparing a grand dinner for the beloved family. She would often cast a glance at Enjolras from the pantry as she picked each ingredient with utmost care, and she would always tell him not to go into the gardens with only a shirt and a vest to protect him from the drizzle. Enjolras would always groan at her request, but he could never bring himself to disobey her.

Enjolras had gotten an apartment at the Rue Montparnasse a few years after he started working in La Maison Rosé. It was a lovely but pleasant little home where he would rest every night after a long day at work. There was a window in his room that lead to the street, where he would often watch people--strangers and acquaintances alike, walk around with every new thing they had gotten from the market, a wide grin on their faces. It was a picturesque place, one Enjolras had grown quite fond of over the years.

He walked towards his apartment with relief washing over him, the rain quickly diminishing as the evening passed. There was a book he had left at the corner of his bed, which he had promised himself to pick up later in the day. It was a present given to him by Combeferre, a novel he had once mentioned to be interested in. Combeferre had given it to him for one of his birthdays, and Enjolras cherished it dearly.

He stopped short by a store next to his home--a winery Courfeyrac had mentioned sold a chardonnay that Courfeyrac quite enjoyed. He pondered on finding a bottle for his friend, his growing enthusiasm getting the best of him. Monsieur Courfeyrac’s words were still fresh on his mind, a promise that made Enjolras feel indebted to the man’s kindness. He wanted to be worthy of it, and in his own way, to show how great his gratitude was. But as he pushed open the store’s door, he noticed a little rodent following him, seemingly lost. Enjolras regarded it curiously.

“It might be a good idea for you to walk back towards your home,” he said. “I’m afraid the evening is coming to a close, and while the rain might be gone for a few hours, it’s likely to return again by midnight. These streets are awfully busy on Friday evenings, and I wouldn’t want you to be chased down by an unkind human.”

The rat tilted its head, then huffed. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to return to my home when I look like this,” it replied humorlessly, its voice strangely familiar. 

Enjolras jumped in surprise, his eyes widening in horror. “You can speak!” he exclaimed. “Why can you speak?”

The rat shuffled its feet as it walked closer to Enjolras, a crude laugh escaping its lips. “Wish I could know,” it replied. “I was walking back home after being thrown out of your restaurant, when suddenly my world became a tenfold smaller than I remembered. Not very pleasant, if you ask me. But as I wandered through the streets searching for this winery, I realised you were nearby, so I followed you around.”

“You’re the violinist, aren’t you?” Enjolras asked, his voice becoming soft. He crouched down on the ground and looked at the creature more intently. There was hardly anything recognisable of the young man in the body of this rodent, but Enjolras could still see him through those clear brown eyes. “How could this have possibly happened--?”

“Jean-Marc Grantaire, at your service. Grantaire, if you prefer,” he replied, “Whereas an answer to your latter question, I’m afraid I don’t have.”

Enjolras reached out and introduced himself to the rat with deep concern, a whirlwind of memories floating through his head. He thought of all those silly fairytales his mother would read to him and his friends when he was a child, how many heroes and princesses had turned into animals after a tragic event. He thought of the young violinist standing before him, his body turned into that of a rat, and a knot formed in his throat. He had to tell Courfeyrac.

“I--Allow me to offer you my hospitality for the night. I may not know how to offer you something helpful for this condition of yours, but I’m sure I have enough wine and food for you to dine, and a place where you can stay safely while we sort this out.”

The violinist--Grantaire--tilted his head in confusion, but he nodded carefully upon hearing Enjolras’ words. “You would help me with this, after that incident at the restaurant? You don’t even know me.”

“We’ve met a few times before,” Enjolras responded. He offered Grantaire his hand and stood up. Then, swift as the wind, he walked towards his apartment. “Now if you may, there is a book I’d like to read before the night breaks. But there’s enough cheese and a loaf of bread in my kitchen I wouldn’t mind sharing with you.”

Enjolras turned to look at Grantaire, and with warmth washing over him, he realised Grantaire was smiling at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised Ratatouille references and here they are.

Michel Enjolras was the kind of man who would always think ahead in life. He was clever, disciplined, and most importantly, very well-organised. He and Combeferre would often sit down to help Monsieur Durand manage the schedule of every one of his employees, making sure to add every small detail and inconvenience the employees would face. He carried around a notepad with himself at all times, one where he would always write down everything he would need to build his restaurant, and add little notes about anything that could possibly be of importance.

Enjolras, unlike his friend Courfeyrac, wasn’t the kind to attend parties and parrot around clubs as his friends would do often. He mostly busied himself with work and working extra hours to achieve his goal, spending very little time gossiping and dancing with other men his age. Nevertheless, Enjolras was quite well-versed with every given name and last name of the people living in Montparnasse, familiar with their likes and dislikes from all the years he had worked at the restaurant--information that would come in handy for the task set to him by Monsieur Courfeyrac.

He sat at his desk since very early in the morning, writing down every name and dish Monsieur Courfeyrac was familiar with and profusely enjoyed. There were several gentlemen of wealth who Enjolras would always find attending Monsieur Courfeyrac’s parties, gentlemen close to his age and humour who Enjolras was certain the old man referred to as his friends. They would often visit the Courfeyrac household when Enjolras lived in it, and they would always ask to dine on lobster or baked ham as they played a rigged game of cards. Enjolras wasn’t fond of them, but he thought one too many times that he as well, would like to have a friendship that could last a lifetime.

He noticed with a side glance that a plate with an omelette was laid by his side as he wrote down the names of each of Monsieur Courfeyrac’s friends. He hesitated before grabbing it, his eyes landing on a cup of coffee sitting beside the plate. He wasn’t sure how either of these things had ended up on his table, never having known how to properly cook an omelette, and unsure about ever standing up to prepare himself a cup of coffee, but he took a bite from it, grateful at whatever destiny had landed him a proper breakfast to prepare everything for Monsieur Courfeyrac’s party with a healthy stomach.

He finished writing down the name of each gentleman, procuring to add Monsieur Valjean--as he was a strong acquaintance of Monsieur Courfeyrac, when he heard a loud knock coming from his door. It wasn’t often that Enjolras would receive visits to his apartment, since his friends would usually ring him while at work to let him know they would be there the next day; but his mother, unlike his friends, loved surprises, and Enjolras would always welcome each of those bombshells with a warm smile.

He greeted his mother enthusiastically, a small smile spreading through his lips as she pulled him close to her for a hug, when he noticed that she hadn’t come alone. Courfeyrac stood behind his mother grinning widely, a playful spark in his eyes. He regarded Enjolras as he embraced his mother, and walked inside Enjolras’ apartment once they were apart. There was something new in Courfeyrac, something longing to tell Enjolras what fate had bestowed upon him, but willing to wait for the day to offer them more privacy.

“Mama, Félix, what a pleasure to see you two!” Enjolras exclaimed. “I was only just having breakfast before your visit. I hope you don’t mind me sitting down at the table as I finish my meal, as I hope you’ve both been well.”

“Quite so,” Courfeyrac replied as he walked around the apartment with curious eyes. He turned to look at the table full of papers Enjolras had been working on, and his eyes widened. “Is that the task my father has presumably left on you? I shouldn’t be surprised that you’ve started working on it already. You’ve always liked to be ahead.”

“Did he tell you about it?” Enjolras asked as he took a bite of his omelette. He hesitated before grabbing one of his notepads, but he drew his hand back when he saw his mother staring at him unsurprised. 

“Not in great detail, but I must say I was rather surprised to hear it was him who wanted to host a party instead of me. Let alone three!” Courfeyrac answered with amusement. “I hope he hasn’t laid down too much work on you though, but I see I could have spoken already a day too late.”

“I’ll manage,” Enjolras assured him. He took another bite of his meal when his mother sat beside him, her eyes curiously studying every note he had laid down since the early morning.

“Darling,” she said after a moment of silence, “don’t you ever give yourself a moment to rest?”

Enjolras stood up from his seat to wash his plate in silence. The taste of the omelette was still fresh in his mouth: the molten cheese, the ham, the spices, all formed together in perfect harmony. It was the kind of plate his own mother would cook to perfection, the breakfast that would welcome him almost every morning at the Courfeyrac household. Enjolras hadn’t tasted something so good in such a long time, and his heart warmed again at the prospect of other people getting to have a breakfast as heavenly as this very soon.

“I do rest every night when I find myself back here,” Enjolras replied, his eyes searching for his mother’s as he sat again. “I know you don’t approve of my lifestyle, but I do manage to live very well.”

Enjolras’ mother smiled and shook her head. “That’s not what I mean,” she said softly. “I know you love your work, and I’m proud of all your achievements, but don’t you want to go dancing sometime, meet someone new, fall in love? You’re so young and there’s still so much out there for you to see. Félix was just telling me of this club he attended last night, where he said he made several new acquaintances that proved themselves to be quite lovely, and I’ve heard the girls from Montmartre are excellent dancers.” She said more quietly, “The boys too.”

Enjolras laughed mirthlessly, his hands curling around one of his notepads as he locked eyes with his mother. “Mama, I don’t have time for dancing,” he said, “and I know you mean well, but I find no joy in such activities. You know I never liked it as a child.”

His mother nodded quietly, a strained smile forming across her lips. Enjolras felt a lump form in his throat, so he quickly grabbed his mother’s hand and squeezed it, hoping his words hadn’t come across as too harsh.

“If I were ever to find love, you know you’d be the first one to know,” he said softly. “Besides, there’s always Félix to tell us all sorts of stories of pretty ladies he’s met around the city. Just a fortnight ago he came running here because a lady stole a kiss from him as he shopped for new garments at les Champs Élysées. He was quite baffled actually, not really expecting such behaviour from such a young lady.”

“Believe me, madame, when I tell you I didn’t expect that woman to be quite so bold,” Courfeyrac agreed, “but who am I to judge her when I carry so much charm?”

Enjolras’ mother laughed, her eyes wrinkling with joy. Her dark hair had begun to fall from the updo she would always fix it into, small curls barely touching her eyelashes. Enjolras’ mother was beautiful, still retaining some of her youth and enthusiasm. Her dark brown eyes were almost as bright and chirpy as Courfeyrac’s. She would always tell him stories of her life before Enjolras was born, how she would sometimes sneak out of her house to meet handsome gentlemen at cafés nearby, and how she would charm them by singing and dancing with them all night.

But there was still so much that would stop her from enjoying herself as much as she wished, and nothing saddened Enjolras more than to see her forced to live a life as the cook of a wealthy family, never able to make a name for herself as she so desired.

“And so you kissed her back, I imagine,” Enjolras’ mother continued, “but not in front of all the people shopping at those stores, I hope. What would your father possibly say of such a scandal?”

“That is precisely why I came running here, madame,” Courfeyrac explained, a sly smile forming on his lips. “I knew if I informed Michel of the scene I’d caused, he would help me find a solution before it hit the news. Those magazines my father reads have written a few articles about me before, magazines my father is determined to read every other week.”

“So how did you two manage?” Enjolras’ mother asked, growing curious.

“Well, I convinced Enjolras to talk to the people from around if they had seen the lady and I kiss, but it seemed as though all the people who were nearby the morning had already left. There was a little girl however, not much older than my sister Felicity, who had apparently been there when the incident took place. She thought it to be quite romantic, a scene of two lovers embracing against all odds. I couldn’t find it in myself to tell her it wasn’t that young lady who my heart truly belonged to.”

Enjolras’ mother laughed, the sound of it reverberating across the kitchen. “You truly never disappoint.”

“It’s my pleasure to bring you joy with the memory of my tragedies, madame,” Courfeyrac said charmingly, his bright teeth flashing with a grin. “I have so much more to tell, if you grant me the honour. There was a young lady asking for me at my household this very morning. It was my sister Felicity who greeted her. She seemed quite determined to talk to me as she walked into the waiting room. I couldn’t recall her name, but she seemed to have known me very well. My mother almost fainted upon hearing the news.”

Enjolras’ mother shook her head. “What will they do with you, young boy?” she asked amused. She turned to Enjolras then, who continued writing down notes about the party guests as his mother and Courfeyrac continued talking. They locked eyes for a moment but after a small, encouraging nod from him, she conversed with Courfeyrac again. “Now tell me everything, why was she there?”

Courfeyrac smiled fondly and continued his tale.

* * *

Marion Enjolras stayed with them for a few hours, her eyes curious and gleaming as she listened to Courfeyrac’s every word. Enjolras couldn’t remember when was the last time the three of them had been together in a room idly chatting, and he quietly enjoyed every minute of it until his mother excused herself with the need to find some groceries to aid Courfeyrac’s mother for dinner that evening. 

She walked towards the door quietly, a pleased smile spreading through her lips as she stepped outside of the apartment. She had missed Enjolras almost as much as he had missed her, and was happy to have spent time with him, however quiet he was. Enjolras followed after her, promising Courfeyrac to join him again in a minute, then offered her a warm hug before she vowed to visit him again very soon.

“I’ll have a surprise for you by the next time you visit,” Enjolras mentioned, his voice straining with hope. “I’ve worked very hard for it, and I hope dearly that you like it.”

Enjolras’ mother stepped out of their embrace to regard him thoughtfully, then she heaved a sigh. “Michel,” she said solemnly, “I know it’s not your priority, but promise me you’ll seek out love one day. I know there’s someone for you out there, and I don’t want you to live your life the way I did.”

Enjolras meditated on her words for a moment before he nodded, not entirely sure how well he could keep his word. “I promise.”

She gave him a small nod before her lips broke into a wide smile. She waved a hand at Courfeyrac as a means to bid him farewell, then planted a kiss on both of Enjolras’ cheeks and turned on her heel. Enjolras waited as she left the building, her yellow skirts swaying with the wind and making her shine brightly with the morning sun.

Courfeyrac watched with amusement as Enjolras returned to his old seat, his eyes following Enjolras’ fingers as he searched for his notepad to continue working. “I think you should follow your mother’s advice,” he said casually. “She’s very wise, you know. If I were a woman, I’d like to be like her.”

Enjolras locked eyes with Courfeyrac and gave him an irritated look. When Courfeyrac laughed, Enjolras shook his head. “I know you’re all very worried by my love life, but I don’t think I can focus on anything at the moment until this project is finished. You know I’ve longed to buy that lot at Rue Daguerre for quite some time now.”

“I know, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac said softly, “and I know that clubs and parties aren’t your thing, but there’s several people I’m sure you would get along very well with. There’s a new club only a few streets from here, a club for gentlemen like us. Maybe you should consider accompanying me and a few other acquaintances one of these days. I know you don’t like dancing but I’ve heard you hum to Louis Armstrong a few times before. You quite enjoy jazz.”

Enjolras glared at his friend, but a small smile formed on his lips. He wrote down the name of Monsieur Fitzgerald, a gentleman who Enjolras knew Courfeyrac was curious to know better, then turned to his friend. “There’s actually a matter of love I wanted to discuss with you, as I’m sure there’s something too that you’ve come to tell me.”

Courfeyrac straightened up, now curious. “What is it?”

Enjolras thought of Grantaire and the events from the previous night, how similar his illness was to all those fairytales Enjolras’ mother used to read to them in the past. He hadn’t seen him at all since the morning, and Enjolras assumed the man to have fled, but there was a strain of hope in Enjolras that there was something he could do to help. “Do you remember all those fairytales we listened to as kids, the ones with the true love’s kiss? How these kisses could magically break each curse that fell upon these princesses and heroes.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Carry on.”

“Well, you see,” Enjolras continued, “I met someone yesterday, a very charming and talented young man. He’s currently in my apartment--”

Enjolras stopped, his hand suddenly injured by an unexpected bite. He cursed quietly, a drop of blood falling through his forefinger. When Courfeyrac asked what seemed to be the problem, Enjolras excused himself to go to the bathroom, carrying a towel to clean himself.

Grantaire sat atop the toilet with a seemingly unamused expression, his small, dark body contrasting with the white tiles surrounding the room. Enjolras gave him a look, his own eyes searching for answers, but Grantaire didn’t seem willing to give any. Enjolras carefully cleansed his wound with the towel, making sure to bandage it properly as Combeferre had once taught him in case of an emergency. He did so very quietly, stealing glances from Grantaire every once in a while, and when he was finished, he made sure to lock eyes with him again.

“Why did you bite me?” Enjolras asked solemnly, the sting from the bite still ever present. 

“You were about to tell your friend about me,” Grantaire said, his head turned to the side as he spoke, feigning disinterest. 

“I was,” Enjolras agreed. “He could help us--help you. Courfeyrac is very well versed in matters of… He could know something about this, I don’t think it’d be a waste of time to discuss this situation with a third party. If I knew what we could do to help you, I would have done so by now, but the only idea I can come up with seems rather silly.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and shook his head. “No there’s nothing--we don’t even know what this is, it might as well wear off after a few days. Look, I know you mean well, but please, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone about this.”

Enjolras regarded him, his expression growing solemn. He wanted to protest, to at least know the reason behind Grantaire’s request, but he allowed Grantaire to continue.

“If you promise to help me keep this secret, I promise I will help you prepare the food for those parties you’re organising.”

Enjolras meditated on those words as he locked eyes with Grantaire, his head floating with ideas of what that could possibly mean. He studied Grantaire, the size of his body, the size of his ears, and how much each proportion of his body had changed compared to how he used to look. Perhaps his eyes were almost the same--the deep, dark brown Enjolras couldn’t seem to stop thinking about--but now they were bigger, much bigger compared to the rest of his body. Enjolras smiled curiously.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Grantaire commented. He stood up from the toilet and stepped down into Enjolras’s bathtub. Enjolras watched the scene unfurl perplexed, then his eyes widened when he realised Grantaire was carrying something in his tiny paws. He stepped into the top of the sink to be more level headed with Enjolras, then offered him a piece of French toast. When Enjolras tasted it, everything fell into place. “I know how much this means to you, and so if it means you won’t say a thing about me, then let me return the favour after you took me in yesterday evening.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to respond, a resigned but intrigued acceptance forming on his lips. He noticed the way in which Grantaire looked at him expectantly, his eyes shining against the bathroom tiles, but Enjolras’ thoughts were interrupted by Courfeyrac banging at the door, and no words were uttered.

“Enjolras, is everything alright?” Courfeyrac asked. “Are you hurt? Because I can ring Combeferre if you need aid. Madame Lambert lives across the street, she always lets me use her phone if there’s an emergency.”

Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged a panicked look, having both become determined to hide the entire scheme from Courfeyrac. Enjolras, now much more confident in the situation, pressed a finger between his lips before he took Grantaire in his hand and hid him behind in the bathroom’s pantry. When he made sure Grantaire had been safely tucked away, he opened the door and offered Courfeyrac a smile.

“Pardon me, friend, it was a silly emergency but nothing for you to worry,” Enjolras explained. Courfeyrac gave him a strange look, but he quickly brushed it off as Enjolras continued. “Early this morning I injured my finger with a piece of paper, and I thought forgetting about it and continuing to work might not have been so damaging, but it turns out I was wrong. I manhandled another piece as we spoke and injured myself again, even bled a little, but I tend to my wounds the way Combeferre himself taught me.”

“Give it to you to leave a wound unattended as you work,” Courfeyrac laughed heartily. “It’s a good thing Combeferre wasn’t here to lecture you about the importance of balancing work and health. But enough of that. You got me curious, who is the mysterious gentleman you were just--”

“Speaking of Combeferre, he inquired after you yesterday while we were at work. He mentioned a new club opening at Rue Daguerre last week, you know, a _ gentleman’s club _. He didn’t seem to be interested in it, but I think he might change his mind if you throw in a word,” Enjolras said, his voice unrestrained. He grabbed Courfeyrac’s shoulders and quickly guided him towards the entrance of his apartment. 

Courfeyrac looked confused, but he followed up as Enjolras spoke. “It might be a good idea for you to visit him, he’s most likely at the library studying, and he hasn’t seen you in so long.”

“Enjolras--”

“My dear Courfeyrac, you know as well as I do that I can only keep you entertained for so long,” Enjolras said with a sigh. He turned to the door and quietly opened it for his friend to walk outside. Courfeyrac regarded him with a frown forming on his lips, but he motioned for Enjolras to continue talking. “I’ve still got so much to plan before I can take a moment to rest, and I don’t wish to bore you with something I’m sure you’d rather live for yourself instead of read. Please know you are always invited into my apartment, but I don’t want you to have a bad time when you’re here.”

Courfeyrac let out a long, frustrated sigh before he nodded. “I really haven’t seen Combeferre in so long, and there’s some news I wish to tell the two of you,” he said resigned. “I will be seeing you next Friday, Enjolras. And I hope you don’t run away from me this time.”

Enjolras laughed. “You know I won’t,” he said, “but you also should know I won’t rest until I’ve made sure this party of yours is a complete success.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Farewell, my dear Enjolras. May the next time we encounter be the day you finally tell me you’ve found love.”

Enjolras shook his head, but he couldn’t hide the small smile that formed on his lips. “Farewell, Courfeyrac.”

He watched quietly as Courfeyrac stepped out of the building, smiling brightly. It was a trait he had gotten from his father, the indisputable ability to radiate pure joy. Enjolras had gotten quite used to it from a very young age, but even now, it would sometimes surprise him how these two men shone against Paris--standing out as beautiful as the city at night.

Enjolras turned on his heel to find Grantaire outside of the bathroom, his tail wiggling curiously as Enjolras approached him. There was something glinting in his eyes, unspoken questions left up in the air. When Enjolras stood before him, knees buckled in a prayer’s position, words unstated were already dripping from his mouth.

“Grantaire,” he said earnestly, “do you think you can teach me how to cook?”


	3. Chapter 3

Enjolras carefully poured champagne into every glass, making sure the drink was served on equal measure for every guest. He didn’t want some of the guests to drink more than others, not unless they took another glass. Grantaire sat on his shoulder, watching curiously and huffing every time Enjolras kneeled down to measure the drink in each glass. Enjolras had grown quite accustomed to this, the way Grantaire would laugh and squeak, his small body moving from one shoulder to another, often pulling tufts of hair in curiosity.

Enjolras was growing fond of Grantaire, how he would sleep at the window in Enjolras’ room, his eyes wide with awe as every night the city’s lights adorned the dark like stars floating in the sky. They would spend every morning in the kitchen, Grantaire often making jokes and quietly laughing to himself whenever Enjolras spoiled the food they would prepare. He wouldn’t explain to Enjolras the purpose of each ingredient, he would merely talk nonsensically about what it would taste like if you mixed them together, a strange but interesting perspective from what Enjolras was used to.

Grantaire was also very well versed in drinks, always pointing Enjolras towards the tastiest brands. They had gone to the winery together a few times by now, Grantaire promising Enjolras it was all for the sake of choosing the perfect wine to gift Monsieur Courfeyrac with. Enjolras wasn’t really the kind to drink, as he much preferred a cup of coffee in between his work--the insulting amounts of sugar keeping him alert no matter the hour. But as the days of the week had gone by, and the hours spent with Grantaire increased, Enjolras found himself sharing a drink or two as they discussed Enjolras’ plans for the widely anticipated evening.

“Have you spoken to Monsieur Courfeyrac yet?” Grantaire asked from his spot in Enjolras’ shoulder, his voice casual but strained. “I don’t want to be shoved down your pocket to stay hidden for the remaining of night.”

“I spoke to his butler,” Enjolras explained absentmindedly, his eyes not yet parting from the glasses. “He offered to aid us in attending to the guests, which might come in handy when we serve the hors d’oeuvres to each of the guests. I thought about leaving some plates spread through the tables, but carrying one ourselves as we greet each guest would be useful.”

“So I’ll have to hide in your vest’s pocket through the entire evening?” Grantaire whined. Enjolras gave him an apologetic look before carefully laying the now empty champagne bottle onto the table. Grantaire sighed in resignation. “At the very least I’ll be able to hear the muffled jazz music from your pocket, I suppose.”

“Sacrifices are always made when you serve a cause,” Enjolras said softly, “but if you so wish, I was planning on taking a moment away from all the guests at the balcony from Félix’ room. I lived in this house for many years before I moved to my apartment, I know every corner of it like the palm of my hand. Félix doesn’t mind me entering his room as I come and go. The balcony has a view towards the garden, but it’s also right above the ballroom, so there’s enough peace and tranquility, but also just enough of the music blaring from downstairs for you to enjoy. I’ll manage to snaffle one of the champagne glasses and some cheese for you if you so wish.”

Grantaire didn’t respond. He had a tendency to grow more somber and quiet every time Enjolras would mention Courfeyrac by his christian name, or talk about the quality of their closeness. But instead of turning painfully quiet, Grantaire hid in Enjolras’ vest’s pocket, his little body snuggling against the fabric. Enjolras smiled softly, his cheeks turning a lovely rosy shade. He turned to the glasses as a means to distract himself, then turned on his heel to greet guests in the ballroom.

Monsieur Courfeyrac stood proudly in the middle of the room, a pleasant smile spreading through his lips. He greeted each of his guests with as much energy as he would the crépes from La Maison Rosé, cheerfully leading them towards his son, who enthusiastically chatted with all men and women around his age. He noticed Enjolras making his way through the room, formally handing each guest a glass of champagne, and he smiled.

“My dear boy!” he exclaimed, “it’s such a pleasure to find you here. I trust you didn’t overwork yourself with all these tasks. I can’t entrust that lot to you and your mother with her son half dead.”

“I had my fair share of help, Monsieur Courfeyrac, but thank you for your concern,” Enjolras replied. “My friends Combeferre and Mademoiselle Thénardier offered me their aid in cooking these hors d'oeuvres, and I had another friend aiding me in cooking the main course.”

Monsieur Courfeyrac smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Your mother was just here earlier in the day, she was teaching my wife how to bake a proper cake. She mentioned visiting you earlier in the week, and asked me personally--very worriedly, not to allow you to overwork yourself as you organise these events.”

Enjolras smiled. “Ah yes, I thought she might,” he said softly, “but I hope that hearing I haven’t worked alone proves to you that I haven’t gone without rest this time around. Besides, I couldn’t have possibly cooked such an excellent dinner without friends as talented as mine.”

Monsieur Courfeyrac nodded. “I know I’ve told you this before, but the older you get the more I admire you,” he admitted. “Every time we speak I feel as though I could learn something new from you. I’m very proud of you and all that you’ve achieved. And I see you don’t step back from asking for help whenever it’s needed. We… we humans might be too proud to do so at times, but I’m glad you don’t carry the weight of the world all on your own. Very well done, Michel.”

Enjolras thanked Monsieur Courfeyrac with a smile, his eyes drifting away to the crowd, far from the monsieur and Grantaire rolling in his pocket. He realised Courfeyrac was now speaking vividly with a young man Enjolras had never seen before. They stood side by side drinking champagne, the other young man eyeing his glass reluctantly before he took a sip of his drink. There was a rather shy and uncertain manner about him, one that sparked Enjolras’ curiosity.

“Do you know the gentleman accompanying Félix?” Enjolras asked, his eyes focused on the two as they laughed. “I’m not sure I’ve met him before, and I’m almost certain I didn’t offer him an invitation. He seems a little shy, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t go out into the city much, especially if he’s rich and can command others to do so for him.”

Monsieur Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes, studying the young gentleman with idle curiosity. “No, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him before either,” he admitted, “Huh. That seems rather strange, I shall go to them and seek the young man’s name. Pardon me.”

Enjolras nodded and watched Monsieur Courfeyrac go. He began to walk throughout the ballroom, carrying a tray with glasses of champagne in his hand, smiling and greeting every guest he was well acquainted with. He felt Grantaire shift around his pocket every now and then, growing impatient as the night progressed. He would often hum to the music playing all around them, his voice a gentle baritone that lured Enjolras into calmness.

When the tray was emptied, Enjolras walked again into the kitchen. The place all too familiar to him, he knew where every plate and every glass and every pan was hidden, and how long he had to stretch to reach the pantry where his mother would hide chocolate chips. Now he no longer needed to stretch to reach them, but the memory of walking down every evening with Courfeyrac and Cosette to bring them down and eat them in the secrecy of their parents, warmed his heart. 

He filled the tray with more glasses to offer to the guests, his eyes careful as he poured champagne into each of them. Enjolras could feel the huff coming from Grantaire from within his pocket and rolled his eyes, but something in him brought him to smile--a half hidden, small smile. He shook his head and walked along, his head held high and proudly as he ventured back into the ballroom to find more guests had arrived.

Some danced around and jumped excitedly, others stood in the corner of the room, singing rather out of tune and carrying a now empty glass, others chatted vividly with their friends and acquaintances--all of them joined in perfect harmony, or so Enjolras thought. He had never been to quite too many parties in his twenty-two years of life, so it was only natural for him to hope that the one he had spent one too many days planning, couldn’t be anything more than a success for the Courfeyrac family.

He wondered briefly if Grantaire had ever been to one of these. Plenty of parties surely, but he wondered if he had ever attended one hosted by one of Enjolras’ close acquaintances. He didn’t dwell on the thought much; Grantaire most likely lived in Montparnasse, or at the very least in Montmartre. Grantaire was an artist, a talented musician, and whether he was very acclaimed or not, Enjolras figured several figures around the city knew his name. 

“Have you ever been a guest musician at one of these parties?” Enjolras asked as he moved around the ballroom, making sure to feign smiles and enthusiasm whenever another guest walked to him to take a glass. “It seems to me you’d offer an excellent kind of entertainment. I’m sure many people from around here fight to have you in their party.”

Grantaire laughed, the muffled sound echoing through Enjolras’ chest. “Fight to have me in their party, _ maybe _. I’m a delight to have around,” he said, his voice barely audible against the trumpets filling the room. Enjolras walked behind a wall to hear him better, and the music almost instantly became muted. “But I’ve never been a guest musician at a party. Truth be told, I’ve only seen it as more of a hobby, though it seems to many that everything I do in life is no more than a hobby.”

“Would you like to do it, then?” Enjolras asked, now growing persistent, an idle proposition lingering in his lips. A few more guests searched for him to take a glass, but Enjolras stopped bothering to greet them. 

Grantaire didn’t respond immediately, seemingly meditating on his answer, then laughed again. “I really doubt anyone would want me as their guest musician. Most people in Paris don’t think of me as anything more than a rich boy wandering the streets with a violin.”

“Who cares what other people might think,” Enjolras said. “If you desire to ever do it, I’m sure the opportunity will arise.”

Grantaire laughed mirthlessly, slowly turning Enjolras’ blood cold. Enjolras clenched his jaw and turned away, forcing himself not to let any guest get a glimpse of his current state. “You know, Enjolras, you actually look rather handsome with this polished suit. Is it new?”

Enjolras laughed then, joining Grantaire in his bitterness. He looked down at his vest’s pocket, how Grantaire’s little head popped out from it, eyeing him attentively. Enjolras felt his cheeks turn warm. “Funny how you’d change the subject under such important matters.”

Grantaire chuckled. “You know me.”

Enjolras shook his head and looked away. The room seemed to have grown smaller, the number of guests increasing. He realised Combeferre and Éponine had arrived, the two of them walking arm in arm through the swarm of people, chatting idly and smiling as they noticed something new within the crowd. Enjolras walked towards them, his smile increasing; he had known the two of them to be arriving late in the evening as he had been the one to hand them their invitations as soon as he had written them down. 

Combeferre and Éponine inspected the plates full of hors d'oeuvres on one of the tables, the two of them chatting as though they hadn’t prepared the entries themselves. When Enjolras walked closer--Grantaire now fully hidden in his pocket, he realised they were discussing those herbs and gemstones they would often talk about at work. Magic, a subject Enjolras wasn’t very well versed in outside of fairytales he had listened to as a kid--a subject he was growing more intrigued about by the second.

He moved in between them, pretending to be interested in taking one of the entries, his eyes twinkling as he stood between his friends without uttering a word. They each shared a confused look, neither of them used to this sort of behaviour from Enjolras, but they shrugged it off and continued their conversation, both seemingly immersed in the names of stones and herbs Enjolras had never heard of before.

“My mother taught me once to drink aloe tea for protection,” Combeferre continued casually, his eyes shifting from Enjolras to Éponine in disguised concern. “She used to give it to me every night before I went to bed so bad spirits wouldn’t wake me in my slumber. She said evil men always took the fears from young kids to feed their own evil friends.”

Éponine nodded, her face turning somber. “I always carry a branch of aloe with me when I head to work, but I never used it to guard off nightmares before. I give my brother a cup of anise tea before he sleeps to ward him of any nightmares he could have. He used to have a lot before we ran away from our parents’ home.”

Combeferre stole a curious glance from Enjolras before his face fully turned to Éponine. “Must have been hard, to move away from them at such a young age. I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have the support from both my parents when I moved here to further my studies,” he said more quietly. “I hope they haven’t searched for either of you ever since.”

“I tell Gavroche to always carry aloe too whenever he goes outside of the apartment, and I always keep a vase full of marigolds in our place to repel any unwanted visitors,” she replied. “It might not be very useful, but we do what we must do.”

Combeferre nodded, his expression darker. When he turned to face Enjolras, his concern had not yet faded. He raised an eyebrow quizzically, but Enjolras could only smile. “I trust you haven’t had much to drink this evening,” Combeferre commented. “It doesn’t seem like you to drink until you lose your senses.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, my dear Combeferre, I haven’t had a single drink this entire evening. I have guests to attend to, and several hours ahead before the night comes to an end,” he explained. “But if you don’t mind my meddling, I might have a question for you two.”

Éponine and Combeferre exchanged a look, both curious and unamused by Enjolras’ revelation. They waited for Enjolras to speak, each of them making sure to take a glass from the tray Enjolras carried, readying themselves to face whatever question Enjolras could possibly have. When Enjolras opened his mouth to speak, they each took a gulp from their drink.

“This may seem rather silly, but I’ve been curious about the subject of curses or illnesses cast upon people by those who practice witchcraft,” he explained slowly. “All my knowledge of the subject is based on all those fairytales my mother read to me as a kid, and I wonder: are curses broken in real life by true love kisses, such as they do in all those stories? I can’t seem to put my mind to how to break a curse.”

Combeferre regarded Enjolras perplexed, his fingers sliding up his nose to fix his spectacles. Éponine burst into laughter, her arms curling around her chest as she laughed louder and louder. Enjolras realised then she was wearing a sparkly dark dress, surely something she had sewn on her own. She composed herself quickly, making sure to get rid of any sort of wrinkles that had formed in after her sudden outburst, then turned to face Enjolras again.

“I hadn’t heard of such a thing like a true love’s kiss in many years, though I must admit it was a rather funny sentence coming from you,” she said in amusement, then turned to Combeferre. “I’m afraid our beloved Enjolras might have had a few drinks after all.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and shook his head. He heard Combeferre mention that ladies’ club he always seemed to mention on Friday evenings, then turned to find Courfeyrac walking towards them with the mysterious gentleman’s arm linked with his. Enjolras’ face lit up immediately, curious to find more of the young man. He pushed away any thoughts regarding his previous conversation with Éponine and Combeferre, and offered his friend a smile.

“My dear friends,” Combeferre said excitedly, “allow me to introduce you to my new neighbour, Marius Pontmercy.”

* * *

Enjolras and Grantaire walked through the Villa D’Alesia in silence, the Parisian night embracing them. Enjolras had been through the villas in Montparnasse plenty of times before. He had wondered more than once why Monsieur Courfeyrac preferred to have a house at Rue des Thermopyles instead of one of these lovely villas, with all sorts of artists and writers as his neighbours. 

There was a bakery across the street, one Enjolras would always visit with Cosette and Courfeyrac when he was a child. It belonged to an old woman and her husband, both immigrants from the Caribbean, who were willing to share their own bread with little children like Enjolras. He remembered the place quite fondly, how the old lady would often sit with him and share the secrets behind her recipes, asking him about his day and recounting her own. She was a knowledgeable woman, always impressing Enjolras with stories of places and people she met during her youth. When he grew up, Enjolras wanted to be just like her.

He realised, with sorrow, that the place was closed, something that shouldn’t have come as a surprise given the hour of the day. He let out a frustrated sigh, his stomach churning with hunger, begging him to consume something. He hadn’t given himself the time to have a proper dinner, making sure Grantaire was well fed before he ate something himself. He had shared a drink or two with his friends before the party dissolved--Courfeyrac all too eager for Enjolras to have a celebratory moment after a successful party. Enjolras wasn’t the kind to bask in those frivolities, but with the proper encouragement from Monsieur Courfeyrac, he agreed to it. It was a decision he would immediately regret.

“Were you looking for that lady of the bakery?” Grantaire asked after a while. He’d been sitting quietly on Enjolras’ shoulder for quite some time. Enjolras had wondered for a moment if perhaps his friend had fallen unconscious after all the wine Enjolras had provided him, but he was pleased to find he had been wrong.

“Do you know her?” Enjolras asked softly, a yawn suddenly escaping his lips.

Grantaire chuckled. “If you mean the old lady, then yes. I had the pleasure to meet her several times, but she passed away last summer,” he explained. “Her granddaughter took charge of the bakery ever since, and though the bread might not be quite as it was when her grandmother ran the place, I think you could still enjoy it very well. She’s a lovely young woman, by the way. I think you should come around here some other time, ask her advice on how to run a food business if you really wish to have your own restaurant.”

Enjolras meditated for a moment, his eyes falling onto the beautiful structure of the building. If Combeferre were there, he would comment on the beauty of architecture, and how much Courfeyrac loves baroque buildings such as this one. “How did you know I’m interested in running a restaurant of my own?” he asked curiously. “I don’t believe I ever told you.”

Grantaire took a moment to respond. “My friend Éponine,” he replied, his voice faltering a little. “She mentioned having a friend who overworked himself a little to achieve a goal. When I asked her who that was, she explained. I didn’t have to ask which of her friends she could have been referring to when I met you that day at the restaurant, and mentioned you should dance. I thought you were insufferable.”

Enjolras smiled. “Well, I’m certainly glad that’s in the past.”

Grantaire moved towards the pocket in Enjolras’ vest, surprising Enjolras by the suddenness of the movement. When he snuggled deep within it, he turned to Enjolras again. “If you are still hungry and wish to eat something before we part towards your apartment, I know just the place,” he said. “My friend Feuilly has a small café no more than a few blocks away, and he keeps it open every night for restless minds like ours.”

“You seem to know this place far better than I thought,” Enjolras commented as they walked. “Do you come here often to visit your friends? I imagine you must be acquainted with several other artists from around.”

“I live here with my friend Bahorel,” Grantaire replied. “We share an apartment right a block away from here. It was his idea, he thought it might be good for me to live among like-minded people. It was with great pleasure that I later found no other than Matisse lived right across our place.”

Enjolras stopped in his tracks, his eyes searching for Grantaire’s. Enjolras knew Grantaire was a living person, one with a family and friends, with a life besides the violin he would play as he walked around the neighbourhood every other afternoon--but it had never occurred to him to ask Grantaire about said life, or where he could possibly live. Enjolras frowned.

“Why didn’t you say so?” he asked softly. “One word from you and I would have brought you back here immediately. I can’t believe I kept you in my own home, possibly against your own will.”

Grantaire laughed audibly, the noise resonating against Enjolras’ chest. “If I wanted to come here I would have done so without you ever asking,” he replied. “I like your own apartment, you have an excellent winery right next to it. If you hadn’t snatched the place before I moved here, I would be living there instead.”

Enjolras shook his head, a small smile spreading through his lips. He continued walking in silence, Grantaire quietly tucked into his pocket. The night had grown chilly over the past few minutes, and although Enjolras thought himself to be dressed appropriately in case of rain, he thought it might be wise to be under a cozier roof as the night continued. 

After several moments of silence, Grantaire spoke. “Enjolras, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“You mentioned wanting to help me step out of this strange, current illness I suffer, but you never really explained how you thought of doing it,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Would you mind telling me what you were trying to do?”

Enjolras stopped again, his expression turning solemn. He carefully took Grantaire from his pocket and stared at him, Grantaire’s deep brown eyes locked with his own. Enjolras offered him a menacing look. “Why are you asking me this?” he said, “I’m almost certain you already know my answer.”

Grantaire gave him a sly look, his lips upturned into a smile that bared his teeth. He would look almost frightening in the body of a rodent, if Enjolras hadn’t grown a little too accustomed to the look. “I’m rather curious, I must admit.”

“You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“For wanting to break a curse through a true love’s kiss?” Grantaire asked coyly. “Perhaps I would. But what’s there to say I wouldn’t spare you the embarrassment?”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Enjolras challenged, arching an eyebrow.

Grantaire laughed again. “Well, how do you expect to find my so called true love within a few days span? Don’t people spend their entire lives searching for their other halves, like the Greek myths?” he teased. “Or were you planning to kiss me yourself?”

“I’m not going to kiss a rat,” Enjolras affirmed. He looked around the street, how quiet and empty it had grown on the curse of the night. It was surely past three.

He locked eyes with Grantaire, and blushed as he noticed how the depth of the night made Grantaire’s eyes look darker. He hadn’t considered kissing Grantaire himself, not when Courfeyrac had dreamed of a moment such as this since he was young, although considering it, the idea made Enjolras’ stomach churn. He had never kissed anyone before, never having found the time to give in to feelings that could blossom into something else. He wasn’t sure how eager he was to have his first kiss with a rat.

He closed his eyes and took a long breath, ignoring Grantaire’s sudden burst of questions before he leaned closer. Grantaire’s small body gently graced Enjolras’ cheek, warm and soft against the touch. Enjolras hesitated for a moment, uncertain about the entire situation, but before he could think harder he pressed a quick kiss against Grantaire’s own lips. It wasn’t precisely what Enjolras had expected, not quite so as Courfeyrac had once described; and Enjolras’ string of bad luck only continued when he opened his eyes and realised his world had suddenly turned small. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, hope you guys enjoy :)

Enjolras turned around himself trying to decipher what could have possibly gone wrong. He looked around the street, his eyes fixed on every detail. Everything was so much bigger than he remembered: the buildings had grown taller, and the pavement seemed to be leading to a much bigger path. He searched around Grantaire, growing desperate by the second. He knew he would never be able to forgive himself if kissing Grantaire had backfired by completely disappearing the man from the world.

But Grantaire stood against the sidewalk a few meters away from Enjolras, his face twisted in confusion as they once again locked eyes--now almost the same height as one another. Grantaire hesitated before walking towards Enjolras, his little paws widening as though he wanted to hug Enjolras, but instead of doing so, he stopped in his tracks burst out laughing, his arms quickly covering his stomach, the same way Éponine did when she laughed. Enjolras rolled his eyes.

“Horsefeathers, I can’t believe this happened,” Enjolras muttered. He pressed a paw against his body, his fingers running through his now hairy stomach. He took a deep breath.

“I told you it wasn’t a good idea,” Grantaire commented. 

“There are some magical properties behind this, Grantaire,” Enjolras argued. He closed his eyes and steadied himself. “All we need to do is find Éponine and ask her how to break this _ curse _. I’m almost certain she knows exactly what needs to be done, she’s quite knowledgeable in the topic. I can almost bet she’s broken a few curses on her own already.”

“Éponine is probably asleep by now, if she didn’t find herself lucky after attending that club of hers.”

“She lives near the Passage D’Enfer, she mentioned so when we first met,” Enjolras continued, ignoring Grantaire. “If we take that street we could be there in around fifteen minutes. That is, if our new bodies allow it. How long does it take you to run towards a place if you’re in a rush?”

Grantaire stared at him, amusement clear in his features. Enjolras stepped towards him, and determinately took his arm. Enjolras was aware Grantaire wasn’t easily swayed--in fact, he found Grantaire to be at times equally, if not more stubborn than Enjolras himself. He would set himself to an idea, and it would be nearly impossible to move him from there. But despite all this, Enjolras knew Grantaire wasn’t as comfortable with his current state as he appeared to be, and he knew that with the right choice of words, Grantaire would be willing to follow him.

“You’re more acquainted with these streets than myself,” he encouraged. Grantaire looked at him perplexed, but Enjolras quickly offered him a smile before continuing. “I know you think there might be no solution to our current problem, and I know there’s a chance you might be right; but if we have the opportunity to find some answers over this, I’d like to take it.”

Grantaire meditated on Enjolras’ words for a moment, his eyes downcast and away from Enjolras’. Enjolras realised then how tired Grantaire must be, having had his share of drinking and never-ending hours of aiding Enjolras--or at the very least keep him company, as the party went on. Enjolras felt his own eyes grow tired, so tired he had almost forgotten how hungry he was only a few minutes prior. But they needed answers, as Enjolras had explained, and they needed them as soon as possible.

“Éponine’s apartment is this way,” Grantaire explained, his little paw pointing at the path towards the left.

Enjolras nodded and followed him along, a certain energy filling him as they ran towards the street in their new-found bodies. Enjolras had never imagined what it would be to be an animal, he hadn’t those kind of desires as a kid. He had always been more curious by myths and history than silly games where he and his friends would pretend to be squirrels. But now he found there was a thrill to it, the easiness with which his body moved at a faster speed, how Grantaire’s laugh echoed behind him, how they ran through the night together playfully.

Enjolras chased after Grantaire through the long street, a competitive side he hadn’t realised was there giving him adrenaline. Grantaire complied to it, the two of them running over each other, squeaking and laughing whenever they surpassed one another. Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself this much, or when was the last time he had laughed for quite so long. He almost wanted this moment to never stop, almost wished he could forget about the real matter at hand, but his thoughts were lost too quickly, as a man ran after them before Enjolras and Grantaire had enough time to think.

It had never occurred to him how it was a human’s instinctive reaction to try to get rid of any pest walking around their home. He had done so many times before, his mother had done so when he was a child; but the man chasing after them didn’t have the same intention as Enjolras and his mother when they scared off any flies or mosquitoes zooming around their home. No, the man chasing after them was a man Enjolras had seen before. With his face half hidden by the night, it took Enjolras a while to recognise, but the man could only hide for so long from the moonlight before his features became clear. It was the man Grantaire had been gambling with on the day Grantaire was turned into a rat, a man with a grim expression and short hair, a man who carried around bottles full of what Enjolras imagined to be potions, and crystals whose names Enjolras did not know. A hex.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras exclaimed as Grantaire escaped from the man’s hands by mere seconds. Enjolras had lost all recognition of their location, his mind more focused on the matter of surviving than the search for Éponine and the answers she could offer. “Grantaire, stay by my side!”

Upon Enjolras’ words, Grantaire turned to him briefly, his eyes wide and full of fear, but he nodded. They ran side by side, crossing through the streets and guiding themselves by the lights of every lamppost standing tall over the pavement. Every now and then Grantaire would instruct Enjolras to turn to the side to slow down the man, his eyes alert to the world surrounding them. Enjolras followed eagerly, knowing that the man would grow tired chasing after them for a long while, especially at such an hour. 

Grantaire led the two of them through a street after they managed to lose the man, but their eyes turned wide when they realised it was a dead end. Grantaire’s breathing had turned erratic, his entire, small body moving unrhythmically along with it. Enjolras walked towards him, hesitant, then took Grantaire’s paw with his own as they hid behind a wall, praying for whatever mercy was there left to spare them. Grantaire locked eyes with him, scared and uneasy, but Enjolras offered him a smile, genuine and reassuring.

They heard footsteps slowly approaching them, and Enjolras’ head jerked up, searching for the culprit. He turned to Grantaire, who had closed his eyes--whatever fate awaited him too unbearable to look at. Enjolras didn’t blame him; instead he squeezed Grantaire’s paw harder, silently praying to whatever God his mother believed in to protect them. The noise stopped for a moment, searching, and Enjolras tilted his head curiously as the shadow of a figure formed behind the wall. He waited, not entirely sure what for, before he pressed a paw against Grantaire’s cheek.

“My dear friend, it’s all gonna be alright,” he reassured. “When that shadow walks away, we may move forward from here. We shall go home where we’ll be safe until tomorrow.”

Grantaire opened his eyes then, staring at the paw with which Enjolras stroked the hairs behind his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, a nervous look clouding his eyes, when the figure stepped into their line of sight.

“Enjolras?” Éponine asked. She was still wearing the dress she wore to Courfeyrac’s party, her eyes droopy and bewildered; but with fierce determination in them as her gaze fell on Enjolras and Grantaire. She walked towards them and offered a hand for them to step onto. When they did so, she let out a sigh of relief. “Enjolras, Grantaire,” she said softly, “I’m so glad to have finally found you.”

* * *

Enjolras watched as Grantaire ran around the room with little Gavroche following close behind. Enjolras had been to Éponine’s apartment only once before. He’d been convinced by Combeferre to keep him company as he handed back a book Éponine had lent to him. It was on the matter of witchcraft, of course, when Combeferre was only just beginning to find an interest in the subject. It was a lovely apartment, small and picturesque, with just enough space for the three people living in it.

Éponine sat beside Combeferre and her friend Musichetta on the sofa, her eyes trained on the book laying on her lap. She had been searching for books stocked in her room for hours since the sun had risen. She had not slept a wink, if Enjolras was correct, and had instead spent the rest of the night searching for answers regarding the curse that had befallen upon Enjolras and Grantaire. Combeferre and Musichetta joined her later in the morning, after Feuilly’s sister informed them of the events that had taken the previous night.

Feuilly, as Grantaire had informed him, was an old friend of his, and consequently Éponine’s. They had met through Grantaire, as Enjolras had assumed, when Éponine was in dire need of a new home. It was Feuilly who convinced her to move in with his sister, a seamstress with a fashionable taste similar to hers, and a knack for taking care of little children. She went by the name of Roselyn, a particular name she had chosen within the years she had come into herself—a name for that which is soft and gentle, like flowers blooming in the spring; a name perfect for the woman she was always meant to be. 

Roselyn watched quietly as her brother, who had gone to visit his sister and was welcomed by the pleasant surprise of a much grander party, prepared tea for all the guests. Enjolras had been offered a cup of tea, a mix of herbs to calm his nerves after the attack from the previous night, but he felt rather strange drinking from a cup in his new, little body, so he pushed it aside and watched his friends continue to mingle as they came to a solution.

“I should have known my father would do this,” Éponine muttered after having closed her book. She turned to Combeferre and handed it to him, carefully opening it to the page she had been reading so he would find the right passage. “_ A curse to ruin all enemies, never worry about seeing them again. _I thought these kind of curses existed in stories only.”

“Have your parents never done something like this before then?” Combeferre asked, his eyes seemingly lost in the book in his hands.

Éponine shook her head. “Never. They always settled for small curses, like a clock not ticking well or words not coming out in the correct order,” she explained. “But they’ve always been interested in dark magic, and I’ve always been certain they would fall into that whirlwind if it meant to rid themselves of their enemies more easily. But to turn people into rats? That’s beyond what I imagined from them, I can only hope they stop there before they set more complicated curses.”

“How did you know he was after us?” Enjolras asked. He walked towards the foot of the sofa, where he could get a closer look at Éponine and Combeferre. Musichetta studied him curiously, but she uttered no word as she sat there. Instead she paid close attention to everything happening around her, as Enjolras had been doing.

Éponine meditated for a moment before speaking. “I knew something had gone wrong with Grantaire when Combeferre informed me my father had been seen gambling with a young man at La Maison Rosé. It’s no coincidence it happened right outside while I was on my shift; I keep the man as far from me and Gavroche with the little magic I have; but that doesn’t mean he’s never tried to approach us. I, of course, had informed Grantaire of any misdoings our father did against us before we moved here, and always told him to stay away from the man, but Grantaire is as stubborn as a mule,” she muttered bitterly. Grantaire turned to her, a sly smile forming on his lips, then shrugged disinterestedly. “When Bahorel came to me to tell me he hadn’t seen Grantaire for two days, I knew it was him my father had taken hold of. Needless to say, I tried to search for him throughout the neighborhood, little did I know, he was the little rat laying on your shoulder at Courfeyrac’s party.”

“But how did you know we had turned into rats?”

“Mere chance,” Éponine responded. “Truth be told, I had no idea what I was searching for. When you left the party, Combeferre convinced me to look for you in your apartment and ask for any sightings of Grantaire you could know of, as you had been the last person to see him. When we didn’t find you at your apartment, we searched around the Passage D’Enfer hoping to find you there. It was then that I heard your voice, and when I realised what my father had truly done.”

“You’ve caused us quite a scare,” Combeferre agreed. “We had no idea where you two could have possibly disappeared to.”

“I hope this serves as a lesson never to question me when I ask you to keep your distance from a person.”

Grantaire, who was still running around the room with Gavroche, stopped in his tracks. He turned to face Éponine, walking over to stand beside Enjolras. The joy radiating from his body was now gone, replaced by a dark expression. “I know he’s dangerous, Éponine, you needn’t explain it to me twice,” he said solemnly, before his face broke into a smirk. “I know you didn’t have the time to visit your _ étoile _ yesterday evening, but there’s no need for you to take it on us.”

Éponine rolled her eyes, exasperated, when Enjolras interjected. “So how is it then that we can break this curse?”

Éponine and Combeferre exchanged a look, their brows creased. Enjolras prepared himself for their answers, his head already formulating an idea of whatever might come, but it was Musichetta who broke the news for the two. “We’re afraid we haven’t found any sort of counterspell just yet, but we might if we find a book on dark magic before the summer solstice,” she explained. “However, because the chances run low on our side, I suggest you go visit the other witch living in Montparnasse. I met him a few times, and he’s always kind to his customers. Perhaps he might be more well versed in curse-breaking.”

“Jehan is a good alternative,” Combeferre agreed. “Most of what we’ve learned has been simple spells passed onto us from other members of our family, or things we have seen our parents perform, but Jehan comes from many generations of witches, as the Prouvaires have been a prestigious family of witches since the early 1600s. His guidance might be exactly what you seek.”

Éponine nodded, her eyes drawn to the book in Combeferre’s hand, as though she was reading it all over again. “Yes, there is a witch who might help you, but you must be careful, for he isn’t always alone.”

Enjolras turned to Grantaire, who had been listening intently. He seemed a little hesitant and confused about the conversation happening around them, but Enjolras pressed his hand against Grantaire soothingly, hoping it might alleviate the tension. 

“Then how do we seek this witch?” Enjolras inquired.

“Near the catacombs, there is a tent,” Éponine explained. “He disguises it as merely a fortune-telling place, but that’s only the entrance. You ought to tell him why you seek his wisdom, though I imagine it might not be hard to explain when you both look like chatterer rats. If he asks, tell them it was Éponine Thénardier who sent you.”

Enjolras nodded, growing more resolute by the second. He was certain soon enough he and Grantaire would be walking on two feet, standing tall and haughtily at the Courfeyrac manor, celebrating the next party--jazz music blaring through their ears. Enjolras was growing restless, wanting for this all to be done as soon as the sun would rise again. But he had to be careful, for if things delayed by a day or two, Monsieur Courfeyrac’s party could fall into chaos.

“Éponine, Combeferre, there is a favour I might ask from the two of you,” Enjolras said.

“If you mean to convince us to take charge of Monsieur Courfeyrac’s next party, we’ve already thought about it, and agreed to do it, all as long as you instruct us how to proceed,” Combeferre responded. “Éponine believes you have written everything down in notepads she found in your apartment, but neither of us dared to go through them in case one of them turned out to be your personal journal. However we brought them here for you to go through them and tell us which ones you might need.”

Éponine stood up from her seat to grab a small stack of notepads, each one a different colour, for Enjolras to go through. Enjolras studied them quietly, then separated them for his friends to see everything more clearly as he explained. “You know, I keep my personal journal hidden away from anyone who might want to read it, so it would have been impossible for any of you to find it,” he said with amusement. “But you did well to have brought each of these. 

“The navy blue one is where I keep a list of all the guests. I did some slight changes from the original list, as I thought Monsieur Courfeyrac might be interested in variation. The red one is where I keep a list of all the dishes and appetizers. I’ve also made a list of different brands of wine and champagne that Grantaire helped me create. Please feel free to pick from these lists, as I’m sure it might be harder to work if it’s only the two of you. The green one is where I keep an approximate of all expenses, and the black one is where I keep a list of all the decorations. Monsieur Courfeyrac won’t mind it if you keep everything simple, for it is the summer solstice celebration that he wants to keep as neat as possible.”

Éponine and Combeferre nodded, their eyes widening as they took hold of each of Enjolras’ notepads and went through each page. Enjolras could hear Grantaire chuckle, but he paid it no mind. He could only hope his friends would go through each instruction carefully, and present a party good enough for Monsieur Courfeyrac to be satisfied.

“Let us hope you and Grantaire will be back before the summer solstice,” Combeferre said as he read down the approximate expenses for each party. “I’m fairly certain I can take control of all this with Éponine’s aid in matters of the kitchen, but I must also work my hours at La Maison Rosé, and so must Éponine.”

Enjolras’ eyes widened, his small paws quickly covering his head. “I can’t believe I forgot about Monsieur Durand! How will I fill my hours when I look like this? Oh no!”

“Oh, don’t fret, my dear Enjolras,” Combeferre interjected. “I’ve already ringed him this morning when Éponine informed me of your state. I told him you’ve fallen quite ill, and that you might not be able to work for the whole week. He offered me his good wishes on your behalf, told me to tell you not to worry, and that he hopes you feel all better soon.”

Enjolras nodded, letting out a loud sigh, then turned to Éponine. “Promise me you will take care of all this, before Grantaire and I return.”

“Trust me, Enjolras, I will,” she said sincerely, then sat down next to them on the floor. Enjolras turned to her, quizzically, when he realised she had pulled a stone from the pocket of her skirt. It was a beautiful, pale blue, a perfect mix between blue and green, and she handed it to him and Grantaire. “This is a turquoise, it serves for protection. Lay it at your window, or your door, and no harm will come to your home. Now go off on your quest, and be careful not to make any noise out there. Be sure to return here safely before the summer solstice, as I know not how long you two have before the spell can be broken.”

Enjolras nodded with determination, before he his paw pressed against Grantaire’s once again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my fav chapter to write, I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it :)

It was a lovely summer afternoon when Enjolras and Grantaire embarked on their journey towards the catacombs, the orange and pink hues of the sky engulfing them and wrapping them in much warmer weather than they had had in the past week--almost as though the sky itself was an omen of good luck, or so Enjolras thought. He didn’t dare to think what rain would be like without his coat, or walking through the streets of Paris in a small, rodent’s body.

Grantaire had grown more quiet over the course of the day, carrying the stone Éponine had given to them with a strange devotion. He would speak every once in a while to explain to Enjolras what path to take, or where they could move much faster. Sometimes he would even let Enjolras carry the stone for him if Enjolras could convince him to rest. But something somber had taken over him, as though there was a cloud over his head threatening rain.

Enjolras had attempted to get an answer out of him by inquiring after his well-being over the course of the morning, but Grantaire was as secretive as he was talented, and none of Enjolras’s attempts seemed to move Grantaire enough to be straightforward. So rather than inquiring after Grantaire’s well-being, Enjolras opted for a much louder solution, one where he would be the one to speak and make conversation as they slowly made their way through Montparnasse, sneakily grinning whenever he realised Grantaire would respond to his vivid conversation with a smile of his own.

“I quite like days like this,” Enjolras confessed, “when it’s not too hot, but not too rainy either. My mother would always let me and my friends bask in the summer afternoons playing in the gardens of the Courfeyrac household. Sometimes she would welcome us back with an icy treat. We both rather enjoyed ending our days with a vanilla ice cream cone, though Courfeyrac was more inclined to chocolate, as he said chocolate would always keep him more alert and therefore smarter than poor old, plain vanilla.”

Grantaire laughed. “I’ve only known Courfeyrac from two times we met at a club,” he said softly, and Enjolras’ stomach lurched, though he couldn’t understand why. “He was with a friend of mine--Bahorel, the one I share an apartment with. I didn’t get to know him very well, but that comment about the chocolate sounds very like him.”

Enjolras nodded excitedly. “You never told you were acquainted with Félix. If I’d known before, I would have extended an invitation for you, made sure to hang out with you more often. I admit I don’t go out as much as he does, but I trust Félix’ judgement in friends, as everyone he introduces to me usually ends up growing into a very close friend of mine. Such was the case with Combeferre, though not Éponine, since I met her through the job we share together. You also never really told me how you and Éponine became acquainted; all I’ve heard was offhand comments about a painting.”

Grantaire nodded, his eyes crinkling with delight. “I was working on a painting for my mother in the middle of the street--not really one of my brightest ideas. I’d been curious about exploring a more cubist style, you know, like Picasso. But sharp lines and figures have never really been my strong suit, and it was all mostly done in practice. I’d chosen to work on a day like this, had even thought to use the sky as my main inspiration--a Parisian summer afternoon but portrayed by all sorts of figures. Little did I know someone would step on it in an attempt to catch her younger brother.”

Enjolras smiled, his eyes widening in amusement. “So she ruined your painting then.”

Grantaire laughed. “She completely tore apart my canvas!” he exclaimed. “Though she managed to catch little Gavroche and take him back home safely, so at the very least she accomplished her task,” he continued. “But she nearly tripped as she fell through my canvas, and when she realised how _ incredible _ my painting was, she felt bad. So she offered to help me repaint it all over again by the next day. My mother quite loved the painting, actually. She briefly thought I had finally found myself a future wife.”

“Oh,” Enjolras’ stomach twisted upon Grantaire’s words. “I imagine you and your mother must be very close.”

Grantaire stopped in his tracks and admired the landscape before them, how the trees glinted brightly against the sun and the birds chirped. Enjolras knew no longer where they had gone, but he didn’t mind. He rather liked the company of Grantaire by his side, how much he knew Paris and quietly loved her, how he would see her through his artist’s eyes. 

“I’ve barely seen her since I moved here to further my studies,” Grantaire confessed, his expression turning somber. “Though I did live briefly with my parents for half a year before I returned, but it was then that my father cast me out of the family.”

Enjolras’ eyes widened with realisation. “Grantaire, I had no idea. I am very sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Don’t worry, it’s alright,” Grantaire reassured him. He turned away to stare at a pair of birds flying around them, enamoured in their own consuetude of courtship. “She and my sisters write to me regularly, though my mother can be quite stubborn at times. She hides it, but I know she’s of similar thinking to my father. They both think this is no more than a passing period of my life, and that one day I’ll return home like a prodigal son, hoping that they’ll be merciful enough to seek for me a good wife. But she’s my mother, nonetheless, and I appreciate every letter she sends inquiring after my well-being.”

“I didn’t know you had sisters,” Enjolras said, growing curious. 

“I do,” Grantaire nodded joyfully. “Adalene and Juliette. One older than myself, and the other one no older than fifteen. It was my dear sister Adalene who convinced me to go against our parents and broaden my art studies here.”

“She sounds rather plucky,” Enjolras commented.

“She has her reasons to be,” Grantaire replied, then let out a hearty laugh. “She had an intended once, a man not much younger than our own father--revolting man. He had courted her for no longer than a month before he offered an invitation to the opera. 

“My sister, clever as she was, invited me with them, saying she would need a chaperone for such an event. It was around this time that I began to learn to play the violin (my father much preferred that I learned to play the piano first) and she spent most of the evening admiring my skills rather than listening to the man, or the skilled soprano singing, for that matter. The man had grown so tired by the end of the event, that he spent the entire ride back to our home complaining to me about her character. Not three days after that she announced to our parents that she had broken the engagement and was to be married to her old childhood friend instead. Our father never spoke to her again after her wedding.”

“Pardon my boldness, but your father sounds like quite an odious man,” Enjolras said, his voice solemn. He hadn’t realised he and Grantaire had resumed their walking again, and he smiled faintly as he again took the stone from Grantaire’s hands.

Grantaire smiled brightly. “He hardly deserves to be called father by anyone at all,” he concurred, “tossing his children around as though they were never his to begin with. I gather he may want to live a more traditional lifestyle, but some of these traditions should stay in the past where they worked better.” He shook his head. “I only wish I could bring little Juliette to live with me away from him, and find a proper job to prove him wrong, but I suppose not everything can be as we wish.”

Enjolras meditated on his words for a moment, then opened his mouth to speak. “My mother used to say that if you wish and work hard enough, all you want in life will come true,” he said softly. “A proper job won’t come to you out of thin air if you don’t search for it in the first place, and it’s not that you lack talent. There’s so much out there for you to choose from.”

Grantaire chuckled, but a small smile quickly formed on his lips. “I thought you might say that. And don’t get me wrong, I have searched for a job and have managed to work on a few painting commissions, but I don’t think it’s quite enough to quiet my father.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said more seriously, “you’re an artist, and if there’s one place in the world where you can manage to carry on a good lifestyle, it’s probably here in Paris.”

Grantaire snorted and shook his head before his face turned more serious. He placed a paw around Enjolras--an act that ought to have been natural to anyone coming from a friend, but that rapidly sent Enjolras’ heart racing. He wondered embarrassingly for a moment if anyone had been there to see him and mock him as he was sure Courfeyrac would have done, but his world was still small, and no other person would take notice of two little rats walking around the city with their arms wrapped around each other.

“My dear Enjolras, let’s not waste our time arguing about my fate in life and let us speak of something much livelier instead, like you,” Grantaire said with amusement. “We ought to find that witch and break this curse of yours, and what better way to do it than by chatting of much happier things. Tell me, do you have any siblings? I believe you’ve only mentioned the friends you grew up with and your lovely mother.”

“I don’t,” Enjolras shook his head. “Whatever do you mean by saying _ breaking this curse of mine _? Don’t you want yours to be broken as well?”

“Well, I’ve grown quite accustomed to this new body of mine. To go back to being human now that I know I can roam around the city without people noticing? If our behaviour at Monsieur Courfeyrac’s party hadn’t been quite so obvious--when I sat by shoulder as you poured champagne to the glasses, or when we slipped to your friend’s quarters, and even when I helped you cook those shrimp cocktails and it turned out you knew how to cook after all--I admit we were both at fault those moments, as I firmly believe Éponine wouldn’t have noticed me if we had been more careful. But other than her, and you of course, you know I’m hardly noticeable like this. Many less people to judge me for my actions.”

Enjolras scoffed, his eyes wandering away to the birds chirping all around them. Enjolras didn’t remember them to be quite so noisy, and turned away from them. He couldn’t quite decipher if it was all the clamor or his own stomach roaring that made him so uncomfortable, but he turned his attention away back to Grantaire. “A rat as loud as you could hardly go unnoticed,” he said, his own heart twirling as Grantaire let out a resonating laugh. “Perhaps after this is all over, you might be interested in playing a few songs at Monsieur Courfeyrac’s summer solstice party. It’d be a pleasure to listen to you while there.”

Grantaire stopped in his tracks, confused, his eyes wide. “Do you mean it?”

Enjolras nodded. “Of course I do,” he said softly. “I may not have agreed to dance that one time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a good jig by a talented player.”

Grantaire grinned then, his eyes glinting with joy. He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer to Enjolras, as though about to embrace him, when Enjolras made the move for him, the stone pressing cold in between their bodies. Enjolras stepped away, feeling embarrassed, but his heart leapt in his throat when he noticed the look with which Grantaire stared at him--hopeful. Enjolras pressed the stone against his chest and parted his lips cautiously, leaning slowly towards Grantaire, his eyes fluttering closed. He could almost feel Grantaire’s breathe tickle his whiskers when his stomach grumbled audibly.

“Horsefeathers,” Enjolras muttered in frustration. He turned to Grantaire, who stared at him in between awe and amusement. “Pardon me, I didn’t realise how long I’ve gone without eating something. I think watching those birds feed near us might have stirred something.”

Grantaire nodded and quickly ran around the perimeter to take a clearer look of their location. Enjolras watched with idle curiosity as Grantaire ran down through the green grass, until he had disappeared from Enjolras’ view. Enjolras pressed the stone against his chest much harder. He waited quietly for Grantaire’s return, curious to know how far away Grantaire had gone, when he heard a rustling of leaves near him.

“We’ve walked for hours, I didn’t realise we had gone so close to the Seine,” Grantaire uttered, out of breath. Enjolras gasped, but Grantaire quickly placed a hand against his shoulder to reassure him. “Fret not, my dear Enjolras, it will be easier to find the Catacombs now that I have a much clearer map in my head. But before we set ourselves back on our journey, what do you say if we have a lovely dinner near the Seine before the sun sets? I know just the right place.”

* * *

Grantaire placed a mat on their small table, an old log from a fallen tree they had found on their way to the restaurant. It was a cozy place, a hidden and now useless pantry from a two floor building near the Seine--a well recognised restaurant by many posh Parisians. It wasn’t the kind of place Enjolras would visit under normal circumstances, but when Grantaire lead him to the hidden room, other rats splintering around carrying small pieces of food they had stolen, Enjolras realised it wasn’t quite so bad.

The small pantry had been damaged in the recent years after the war, small holes protruding from the walls, leaving room for the moonlight to grace them as romantic candlelight. Grantaire had made sure to place the log right in front of one of these holes, serving its purpose to them as a lovely window. Enjolras could see a great portion of Paris from it, the Seine glinting beautifully against the Parisian lights, Notre Dame standing proudly in the distance.

Enjolras took a seat before the log as Grantaire made his way into the kitchens, promising to return soon. There was a spark of curiosity in Enjolras, a thrill to go chase down Grantaire to the kitchens and help him steal the food. He stood up from his seat feeling restless, but was quickly stopped by another rodent friend who motioned for him to stay in place so none of the others would take that seat from them, their squeaks taking Enjolras by surprise. Enjolras nodded, unsure how to communicate with his new friend.

The small rat quickly walked away, quietly waiting for their companion to return from the kitchens. It was a small retreat, Enjolras realised. Other rats had arrived in couples, possibly as a means of courtship, others gathered around with their friends and idly ate and were loud as a means of celebration. It was a lovely place for creatures such as them, with excellent food and a lovely view, faint jazz music playing from a nearby building. Enjolras’ heart swelled.

Grantaire arrived some time later with pieces of bread and a small, metal box full of molten cheese. Enjolras quickly stood up to help him carry it to their new table, and smiled when he realised Grantaire had also brought with him a small twig he would later light up as a means to recreate a candle. They sat on the table opposite each other, the pieces of bread spread around in equal amounts for the two of them to mix with the molten cheese. Enjolras noticed then that Grantaire had sprinkled in some spices to add a more pungent flavour, and his stomach jolted. 

“Thank you for this,” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt everyone else’s party with his strange, human voice. “This is quite possibly the loveliest dinner location I’ve ever been to in my life.”

Grantaire took a bite from his piece of bread and smiled. “No need to thank me,” he said slyly. “It was my pleasure to cease your hunger with my excellent cooking.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I wish you would let me aid you. I want to return the favour to you one day.”

“Maybe,” Grantaire offered, “when you no longer look like a rodent and we can cook in your kitchen where I won’t feel guilty if you set the whole place on fire. Besides, if we were to prepare dinner together, I would rather it be a feast and not just some simple cheese.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but a small smile spread through his lips as he looked away at the Seine. He had seen it plenty of times before, when he would accompany his mother to the market, but there was something in the air that night, something that called to Enjolras and made his chest ache. “There’s such a beautiful view from here.”

Grantaire stayed quiet for a moment, but Enjolras was too preoccupied staring at Paris right before his eyes to see if he had taken another bite. “Indeed there is,” he said softly.

Enjolras turned to him, his eyes glinting as when realised Grantaire was staring at him. If he still had his human body, he was certain a blush would creep through his cheeks, but he pushed the thought away and smiled instead. “How could you have possibly known of this place?” Enjolras asked incredulous, “I know you to be acquainted with the city, but to know of a place where rats reunite to have dinner? Seems the sort of joke out of a fairytale.”

Grantaire laughed and shook his head. “I’ve been to the restaurant before, one of the waiters is a friend of mine--didn’t refuse to dance for me when I played a jig to him,” he dug. When Enjolras rolled his eyes, as was expected, he continued. “He told me of this pantry--even showed it to me. How rats from all over the city would hide in there and steal some of the restaurant’s food. He had been told to get rid of it once, put poison all over the pantry, but he didn’t have the heart and lied to the chef instead. He was aware of the sanitary precautions he must have taken, and so instead he accommodated a different cupboard for all the visiting rats to take food as they pleased.”

“That’s very clever,” Enjolras said meditatively, “and kind. I like this friend of yours, despite the fact that you hold him against me for being more fond of dancing.”

Grantaire grinned. “I might have to hold it against you for the rest of our lives--if you would keep me as your friend, that is.”

“I thought you insufferable for it,” Enjolras confessed. “A rich boy mocking me for preferring to work hard rather than waste my time dancing and keep my customers waiting. And although my own friends often tell me I should find more time for myself, I didn’t think you understood at all why this was important for me, or anyone at all.”

Grantaire smiled brightly, his teeth shining against the small candlelight. “I thought you were a stuck-up, pretentious prick who didn’t enjoy livelier music. Like an old man in the body of a young adult. I couldn’t put my mind to understand why Éponine cared so much about you; to me that day it seemed you were a great deal like my father. But you proved me wrong the second time we met.”

“I did?” Enjolras asked, surprised.

Grantaire nodded. “I’m not entirely sure if you remember me there, but we were out celebrating Bastille Day--almost a year ago,” Grantaire recounted. “Everyone in the neighborhood was out on the streets drinking and celebrating. You were there with your friend Courfeyrac, of course. I’m almost certain he was the one to drag you there. But you were radiant, singing along with everyone, and sharing a laugh with your friends. I was sitting with Éponine when you approached an old lady nearby, and told her about the restaurant you wanted to build for your dear mama, how it was a dream of yours since you were little. I think, under different circumstances, I would have thought you ridiculous for making wishes still at this age, but in truth it brought me so much…so much joy, and hope, to listen to someone like you.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, his heart jumping against his ribcage. For once in his life, he found himself at a loss for words. “I… I do remember seeing you there, yes,” he said softly. “The old lady was Combeferre’s grandmother--a lovely woman, she passed away last spring. I remember asking Éponine about you, that’s when she told me you two met through a painting.”

“I hope she wasn’t too harsh on me when she spoke to you about me,” Grantaire said with amusement.

Enjolras scrunched up his nose. “Not really, she always speaks of you quite fondly,” he said. “It was always me I thought her to speak ill of. I thought she hated me for years until I realised she considered me her friend.”

Grantaire laughed and took one last bite from his bread. Enjolras followed his lead. “Éponine can be difficult to understand at times, she keeps a lot to herself. But you ought to know, she loves each of her friends very dearly, and would be willing to help them no matter what circumstance they’re under,” he explained. “Unless you are a girl of her fancy, then all her rough exterior disappears and you are found with a puddle of water instead.”

Enjolras giggled. “So I’ve heard.”

Grantaire stayed quiet again for a moment, his expression turning serious. When they locked eyes again, Enjolras found a hint of uneasiness in them. Grantaire was nervous. “Enjolras, if you--uh, if you’d like we could--”

Enjolras turned to his side, a different kind of noise making his eyes widen. There was a pair of rats moving around the pantry curiously, one of them carrying a stick as a means of support, and the other stumbling against other rats as he moved. They seemed lost for a moment, unable to find an exit, when Enjolras realised the reason behind his own surprise. They were speaking to each other, in a language Enjolras could perfectly understand. They were human, like Enjolras and Grantaire.

Enjolras quickly stood up from his seat, his surprise ever present, but it was Grantaire who spoke to the human-rodents first. “Joly?” he asked surprised. “Bossuet? Is it truly you two?”

The two rats turned to them, their eyes widening. They made their way through the crowd of bewildered rodents and quickly pulled Grantaire into a hug, the one with the stick careful enough not to hurt himself in the process. When they took a look at Enjolras they smiled and ducked their heads as greeting. 

“Grantaire, my dear friend, I never thought I would ever see you in a place like this,” the one with the stick said in disbelief.

Grantaire chuckled. “Life has taken a wild turn as of late, my dear Joly,” he said, “but I see I’m not the only one under these circumstances.”

The other one--Bossuet--shook his head. Enjolras recognised him as the rat who had motioned for him to stay in his place earlier, and he laughed to himself. “God knows what kind of curse has fallen upon us,” he said solemnly. “We were on our way to the catacombs to visit an old witch. Apparently we haven’t been the only ones to have fallen to these circumstances; an old squirrel was the one to instruct us to seek this sorcerer.”

Grantaire turned to Enjolras then, his eyes glinting with joy. “We were just on our way there as well!”

“Perhaps we shall go together then,” Joly spoke, “have a chance to meet this new friend of yours.”

Grantaire grinned, sheer joy radiating from his small body. He wrapped an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders, sending shivers through Enjolras’ spine. When he spoke again, he did so with such happiness it made Enjolras’ stomach take a somersault. “My dear Enjolras, allow me to introduce you to my friends Joly and Bossuet.”

* * *

The path towards the catacombs wasn’t quite what Enjolras had imagined. It was quiet for the most part, a hint of rain threatening to fall upon them. Enjolras wished for a moment that he had a coat to protect himself from the rain, but his worries were quickly washed away when Grantaire went up to a tree to take two leaves for the four of them to use as umbrellas.

Bossuet and Joly proved themselves to be as lovely as Enjolras had imagined. They had been cursed only a few days after Grantaire, in an encounter with Monsieur Thénardier that lead to tragedy. Enjolras had found Grantaire wasn’t the only one in the group who enjoyed drinking and gambling, and although it was Monsieur Thénardier who had won this new round, Bossuet had accidentally stumbled upon Joly’s stick and pushed away the monsieur in an attempt to walk away.

They were quite chatty and rather fond of Grantaire, almost as though they had been friends in their infancy--much like Courfeyrac and Enjolras. They inquired about Enjolras’ life, explained that they lived near Villa D’alesia, where they had met Grantaire for the first time. They were mutual acquaintances of Éponine, having met through Musichetta, who they had been hiding from ever since the curse had fallen upon them.

Enjolras realised how much more comfortable Grantaire was with them around. He would burst into giggles and chatter vividly, sharing all sorts of stories with Enjolras about their adventures together in Paris. It made Enjolras’ stomach churn.

He sang through a long part of their journey, his voice a mellifluous note to complement a heavenly sunset. It made Enjolras’ heart jolt with both surprise and awe. How could men like Joly and Bossuet live with hearing Grantaire sing so often without making a fuss about how perfect a voice he had? How could they possibly handle their heartbeats increasing one too many times a day as Grantaire shared his voice with them?

But the singing came to an abrupt stop as they found themselves at the entrance of the catacombs, a small tent extending not so far away from them. It was Joly who made the first comment about it, his eyes widening as they slowly approached the place, their voices clamoring while they discussed how they would go about walking inside. Enjolras was about to offer to walk inside by himself and explain their situation before the others would join him, when they were quickly interrupted by a young man, not much older than themselves.

He was handsome in the most habitual way, with dark, long hair and long eyelashes. He gazed at Enjolras and his friends with a certain haughty air, as though being taller than them gave him a higher importance. He wore expensive clothes, brands Enjolras had only heard of from Courfeyrac and his father. It was a strange contrast, to find a man as fanciful as him walking around the catacombs in the dead of night, but Enjolras tried not to question his motives.

“What could a group of blabbermouth rats possibly want here so late at night?” he asked, an inquisitive brow raised. “Why don’t you go meandering around elsewhere, where you rats belong?”

Enjolras quickly took a step forward, his posture mimicking the young man’s. “We are here to search for the notable witch Jehan. A friend of ours sent us in search of him. And you are?”

“My name is Montparnasse, I am the king of these lands,” the young man replied. “I watch over this neighborhood, as I was named after it. If it’s the young witch you seek, then tell me: what is it that brought you to him?”

“A curse was cast upon us,” Enjolras explained, his voice solemn. “Another young witch, Éponine Thénardier, advised us to come here and seek help. My friends have been in this state for a week, and we ought to return to our human bodies before the summer solstice. Now if you’ll excuse us.”

Enjolras made a motion to continue walking, but Montparnasse quickly placed a foot to block his path. “Éponine Thénardier, I must say that name sounds oddly familiar. You must remind me again who she is before I let you walk away, for I truly cannot remember.”

“She’s Monsieur Thénardier’s eldest daughter,” a voice said from behind them. Enjolras turned to find a man, a little younger than him, standing before them. He offered each of them a warm smile, one that reminded Enjolras of a fireplace--warm and cozy, but full of fire. The young man stood timidly before them, his colourful clothes swaying with the wind. “I’ve asked you before to stop intimidating my clients. Now let them in before it starts to rain and they turn cold.”

Montparnasse stepped away reluctantly, his eyes following Enjolras and his friends as they walked into Jehan’s tent. The tent--as Éponine had explained, was only the entrance to a small cottage full of stones and herbs. Everything about the place seemed magical and picturesque, with bookshelves full of stories and curses and spells. There was a black cat curled in the corner of a bookshelf, sleeping soundly as they made their way into the cottage, and a broom lying on the floor which filled Enjolras’ head with all sorts of questions.

Jehan offered them tea while he brought them cushions for them to sit on. There was a curious glint in his eye as he asked the question, almost as though he was reading into their drinking preferences. Enjolras shook his head, but he smiled warmly when Jehan returned with a small cup of tea for each of his friends.

“So, I imagine you’re all here to discuss your curse and how could you possibly break it,” Jehan said softly.

They all nodded in unison, but Enjolras was the only one to speak. “Our friend Éponine couldn’t find any answers in her books, but mentioned you come from a long family of witches, and she thought you might help us better.”

Jehan nodded. “It’s a complicated curse, one that requires dark magic and forces that don’t belong to our world,” he commented, the yellow frills of his shirt swaying as he moved around the cottage searching for a book. When he found it, he opened it to read a passage quickly, then turned his attention back to them. “I knew Monsieur Thénardier was involved in dubious business, but I never thought he would go quite so far as to cast a curse over something so petty.”

“Do you know how to break the curse then?” Joly asked curiously.

Jehan nodded. “I’ve seen so much of this curse by now, I may know all of it by memory,” he responded. “But I’m afraid curses such as these require more than stones and herbs, though in many cases they might help.”

Grantaire chuckled. “I doubt very much one of the means to break curses such as these would be true love’s kiss,” he said slyly, his eyes meeting Enjolras’ for a brief moment. Enjolras scoffed. “Please, you ought to let my friends know that such things exist only in fairytales.”

Jehan studied Grantaire for a brief moment, before a smile broke into his face. “You lack a little faith, Grantaire. There is some truth to fairytales too,” he contended. “It’s true that Enjolras’ solution offered only a newer problem, but he wasn’t far from the truth. Kisses break curses too, especially those that involve dark magic. But for a kiss to make the magic real, it ought to be honest and come deep from the heart, and most importantly, both parties ought to believe in magic, as well as each other.”

“So the curse can be broken by a kiss?” Bossuet asked, surprised. “I can’t believe it never occurred to us.”

Jehan nodded. “A true love’s kiss, if you wish to call it. Though love can only be a rose about to bloom, as long as the two lovers have faith in the magic all around them. It’s not so difficult to break, when you think about it, but we as humans tend to overcomplicate everything,” he said absentmindedly. He waited quietly as they each finished their cup of tea, then turned away to search through his cabinets for a strand of herbs and a stone. He offered them to Grantaire, mentioning they were basil and a rose quartz. “To attract the one you care about,” he explained.

Grantaire stared at them, his eyes wide, then quickly pushed them away, his brows furrowing deep in concern. “I know about love potions, Éponine has spoken to me about them, but they don’t seem to be an honest way to break this curse, if I’ll be honest.”

Jehan smiled slyly. “You are correct, my dear Grantaire,” he said, then pulled out another stone for him. The stone had a colour similar to the one Éponine had given to them that morning, though a bit bluer--it reminded Enjolras of the ocean. “This is an aquamarine, it speaks of the truth. If you want your love to be honest to you, as the curse requires, this one might aid on your quest. And help you _ too _, in the future, as it is true to the world that it’s not as black and white as you see it.” He turned to Enjolras. “An aquamarine might serve you well, but you aren’t merely here to break a curse. A tourmaline will aid you in your quest to break your curse as it will bring you success, but you will see that those parties you’ve been planning will be a success too, and so will the restaurant you wish to build. But be mindful, and open your eyes to the truth before you. Don’t let your judgement cloud your view.”

Enjolras nodded while he took the stone from Jehan’s hand, Éponine’s turquoise falling to the side. He stared at them uneasily, not sure which one he should take in his hands, when Jehan offered him a small bag to store the two, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Enjolras turned to Grantaire, who didn’t meet his eyes, and offered to place his own stone in the bag, but Grantaire quickly shook his head.

“And what stones might aid the two of us in our journey to break the curse?” Bossuet asked. “I wouldn’t mind a stone or herb that might help me rid of my bad luck. Perhaps it might be then that I will be lucky enough to be kissed by my true love.”

Jehan chuckled, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. “There are times in which stones and herbs are not needed to bring the truth,” he explained. “Hiding and running away from those who love us might hinder it, but love remains all the same. Sometimes we might think that our loved ones may not want to see us when rain has soaked us through, but how will they ever aid us if they don’t see where the problem began and ended?”

Joly and Bossuet turned to each other, their eyes wide, then nodded in unison. Jehan smiled brightly at them, shining through the curtains of his cottage as though it was the sun glinting through them and not the moonlight. He took each of their cups and refilled them with a different kind of tea, one with a more golden colour. Enjolras wondered for a moment if perhaps it had anything to do with the issues each of them carried, but he didn’t dare ask.

“Bahorel came looking for you recently,” Jehan said casually as Grantaire took a sip of his tea. When Grantaire’s eyes widened with surprise, he continued. “He seemed so desperate to find you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite so worried. You are his closest friend after all.”

Grantaire’s expression immediately lit up, his own eyes shining as bright as Jehan’s. When Enjolras looked at him, he realised he had never seen him smile quite so wide. “I can’t believe he asked you about me.”

Jehan nodded. “We are good friends. You should let him know of your well-being, no matter what you look like. You’ll bring him so much joy if you let him see you.”

Grantaire nodded enthusiastically, his smile not yet faded when he took a sip of his tea. Enjolras’ stomach sank. 

Jehan looked at the big clock ticking behind one of his bookshelves, a small bird peeking through a hole in it. When he turned to face them again, his face grew solemn. “But now I must ask you to hurry, and to remember my words, for your curse can only be broken before the summer solstice. Otherwise the spirits will keep you in this state forever. This is why Monsieur Thénardier was chasing after you, to be rid of you before you could break his curse.”

Enjolras nodded, keeping his bag of stones close to his chest. When he turned to look at Grantaire his face had gone distant. Enjolras took one of his paws in his own and tried to muster up a smile. “Let’s go home,” he whispered.

* * *

Enjolras frowned uncomfortably as they made their way through Rue Montparnasse, his eyes fluttering tiredly. Grantaire had grown quieter again after they left Jehan’s cottage, his own mind racing with thoughts. Enjolras had realised his own pacing had grown uneasy, and not even Joly and Bossuet could bring him to chat with them either.

The conversation Grantaire had held with Jehan was still fresh in his mind, tugging at his stomach and making his heart sink. Grantaire had seemed so happy when Jehan had mentioned his friend Bahorel, that Enjolras couldn’t begin to imagine what could have possibly brought him down so quickly, especially not when his dear friends Joly and Bossuet chatted excitedly, mentioning how soon, before the breaking of dawn, they would be human again. 

He bid the two of them farewell pleasantly enough before they disappeared into the night, their chit-chat diffusing as they slowly walked away. Enjolras turned to Grantaire, his stomach still churning, and offered him to climb inside Enjolras’ apartment while the night broke away. Any sign of rain had dissipated after they left Jehan’s tent, but Enjolras much preferred to know they were both safe and sound under a roof before a thunderstorm surprised them.

The place looked the same as Enjolras remembered, save from the notepads that were now under the care of Éponine and Combeferre. Enjolras carefully placed the two stones Éponine and Jehan had given to him at the corner of his window, the moonlight gracing them and making them shine against the darkness of the apartment. He turned to Grantaire, motioning for him to place his stone next to the other two, but he held his tightly against his chest--unmoving.

“So,” Enjolras began, his paws mingling with the hairs of his stomach, “what do you think we should do next to break our curse?”

Grantaire stayed quiet, his eyes glued to the floor. He placed his stone on the floor, meditative, then spoke. “I… I think I should probably leave,” he said, his voice raspy from all the silence. Enjolras quickly tried to interfere, but Grantaire stopped him, an unnatural smile spreading through his lips. “I should be going back to my home, I’ve been gone for weeks. I should speak to Bahorel, as Jehan said. Besides, there’s nothing left for us to do together, right?”

Enjolras’ stomach twisted, but he tried not to look too deflated as Grantaire moved towards the window with his own stone at hand. Enjolras tried to stop him, his paws grasping at Grantaire’s elbow, but Grantaire only gave him an apologetic smile. He tried to protest, ask for him to stay at the very least until the morning, but Grantaire was as stubborn as he, if not more.

“I wish you good luck, Enjolras,” he said quietly. “I hope that the next time we see each other you’re standing as tall as you used to--in fact, I’m sure you will. I’m sorry I brought this upon you.”

Enjolras shook his head desperately, then turned away while Grantaire climbed down from his window, the rustling of leaves making Enjolras’ heart break too deeply. When he was certain Grantaire had gone, he realised a small tear had slipped down his cheek. He lay down on his kitchen table, and let out a loud sigh of defeat.


	6. Chapter 6

The clock struck twelve when Enjolras looked up from his notepads, trays full of hors d'oeuvres gathered around him. Nearly a fortnight had passed since he had last seen Grantaire, the days slowly accumulating in an overwhelming manner. Enjolras couldn’t seem to take their last conversation out of his head--every moment, every second, he would spend recounting the way in which Grantaire’s face turned grim, making his chest ache.

Éponine sat before him with a magazine in her hands, a copy of Die Freundin most likely, something she appeared to be enthused by as of late. Ever since their failed visit to Jehan, she had made it her purpose to spend more time with Enjolras, even if she just sat quietly in the corner of a room as the time passed. Combeferre would accompany them too on occasion, his own eyes seemingly lost in either his own medical studies or the books Éponine would often share with him. They would gather around in Enjolras’ apartment, or otherwise Monsieur Courfeyrac’s home, where they would lay down all the last preparations of monsieur's party.

Enjolras had grown significantly more distracted over the days, forgetting his own notes and important dates. He had asked Combeferre to aid him in explaining his state to Monsieur Durand, searching for believable excuses so the monsieur would not grow mad. Monsieur Courfeyrac, of course, had been as understanding as humanly possible, wishing Enjolras good wishes and a rapid healing soon. Nevertheless, he wasn’t as patient as Monsieur Durand, and he had grown increasingly fretful after his second party, demanding that Enjolras attended at the end of the month to welcome the summer solstice.

Naturally, Enjolras found himself more tense upon hearing the news, not quite sure how to tend to the party with a body small enough to hide in a pantry. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jehan’s words, what was there left for him to possibly do to break this curse he had fallen into. Everything seemed to drag him back to Grantaire, and how he had left suddenly, never to appear in his life again.

Enjolras turned to the tray of glasses lying atop the kitchen table, stopping in front of the one lying before Éponine. He had tried to serve the champagne in his own glasses at home a few days prior but failed, his paws proving themselves too small to carry the entire bottle. Nevertheless, Enjolras wasn’t the kind to give up, and with one final try, he lifted the bottle in his paws and dragged it closer to one of the glasses, his body shaking in response.

“Enjolras?” Éponine asked all of a sudden, her magazine falling to the table as she spoke.

Enjolras turned to her, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. The bottle he was carrying was barely balanced by his body, and Éponine quickly took it from him. He stared at her with a troubled expression, trying to chase after the bottle with the necessity of making himself useful. When she realised his state of distress, she let out a sigh.

“Enjolras, the party won’t start in at least ten hours, what would be the point of serving the glasses now if no one will drink them until tonight?” she asked softly, her hand patting his head. “I know you’re concerned about Monsieur Courfeyrac, but I’m certain everything will work out for you in the end. ”

Enjolras remembered the stone Jehan had given to him, the one that sat on his kitchen’s window ever since that night. A stone to bring him good luck, both for his curse and for the fate of his mother’s restaurant. Enjolras shook his head violently. “Tonight will be the summer solstice,” he said bitterly. “How long do I have before I stay like this forever? How could I possibly respond to Monsieur Courfeyrac, who demands to see me tonight, when I look like this?”

Éponine stayed quiet, her eyes downcast. She toyed with the bottle in her hands for a moment, before she turned to Enjolras again, her brows furrowed. “He demanded something else from you,” she said quietly, her lips tugging into a tight frown. “I didn’t know how to tell you, I--”

“What is it?”

“He wants a star to sing at the party tonight, to make it more special,” she responded, a faint blush painting her cheeks. Enjolras listened to her intently as she continued. “She’s often referred to as _ l’étoile, _for how she’s grown into fame in the past couple of years. But she’s from here, from Montparnasse, which is why he thinks it’ll make it all the more special.”

Enjolras meditated on her answer briefly before he turned to her, his eyes glinting and inquisitive. “Éponine, is there a chance that the club Combeferre mentions you often visit is a ladies’ club at the Rue de la Gaité?”

Éponine’s eyes grew wide, her cheeks instantly turning darker. She hesitated for a moment before she nodded simply. “She sings there,” she admitted. “Combeferre always teases me for it, even Grantaire does so at times, but nothing’s come to happen between me and her. I don’t think she’s ever noticed me amidst the crowd. Combeferre… he mentioned once you might happen to know her, but I didn’t dare ask, not when you could very well use it against me.”

Enjolras laughed, his expression quickly softening. “I do, her mother was a close friend of my own mama. We grew up together with Courfeyrac, that may be why monsieur wishes for her to attend,” he explained. “However, I haven’t seen her in some years--not since she moved away to America with her mother, but I’ve heard such news of her from Félix himself, and she’s as sweet as she’s always been.” He took a deep breath, then walked closer to Éponine, “´Ponine, forgive me for my boldness, but if you like her as Combeferre says, then why don’t you pursue her heart, or at the very least, attempt to talk to her?”

Éponine laughed mirthlessly, her eyes falling to the bottle she carried. “I could almost say the same to you.”

Enjolras shook his head, his stomach sinking again at the thought of Grantaire. He hadn’t spoken of him ever since his return, he didn’t dare to, but Éponine’s eyes were earnest--hopeful--and a knot formed in Enjolras’ throat. “It’s not the same thing. Grantaire’s interested in someone else.”

“You are correct, it’s not,” she concurred, “because Grantaire feels the same way about you, and there’s no need for you to introduce yourself to him. You’re very well acquainted with each other.” Enjolras opened his mouth to protest, but Éponine continued, “Of all the people I’ve met in my life, I didn’t take you to be quite so dense. You’ve always been so smart, so observant, and yet you don’t realise the way Grantaire feels about you. He didn’t dare to admit it, not when he’d only known you from afar, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of you that Bastille Day we spent together.”

Enjolras stared at her, perplexed. He tried to protest her statement, tried to formulate the right words, but nothing came to him. He sat down on the table, defeated, his eyes drifting to the wood beneath him. He remembered, rather uncertainly, a shadow moving in his apartment not two days prior, waking up to the smell of a freshly cooked omelette he couldn’t have made on his own, not when he had only woken up, and his eyes widened with awe.

He turned to Éponine breathlessly, his heart pulsing against his chest at an unimaginable rate. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Éponine of his last hazy encounter with Grantaire--hoping that it hadn’t all been a dream--but before he could muster a word, two figures walked into the kitchen, speaking vividly as they made their way in front of Enjolras.

Courfeyrac looked around the room, bewildered, searching for the source of Enjolras’ voice until his eyes landed on the small rodent staring at him. Éponine smiled at him apologetically, unable to explain to him the core of the situation in only one sitting, until her eyes landed on the figure behind him. Cosette stood still, a small grin forming on her lips as she slowly approached Enjolras and took him in her hands. When she looked at Courfeyrac and Éponine, she was glowing.

“Enjolras,” she said softly, “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

* * *

“A curse?” Courfeyrac asked perplexed, his hands playing with the hem of his vest. “How did that come to happen in the first place?”

“Rather strange of you to be the one not to believe in magic,” Cosette interjected.

“I do believe in magic,” Courfeyrac reassured, his head slowly falling into the grass. They’d been sitting in Courfeyrac’s garden for the past hour, reviving the sweetest moments of their childhood, reviving the events of the past three weeks Enjolras had gone through. “It just seems rather odd, to have Enjolras be the one to be cursed. Who could possibly curse Enjolras?”

“It wasn’t me who was cursed, it was Grantaire,” Enjolras explained. “He was cursed by that odious man, Monsieur Thénardier, the one who chased after us that night after the party.”

“So how did you turn into a rat then?” Courfeyrac asked, growing curious. There was a dangerous glint in his eye, almost as though he knew the truth behind Enjolras’ answer already. “Mere chance?”

Enjolras stepped further into the garden, walking a little away from his friends. He watched how they stayed still lying on the grass, both longing for more of Enjolras’ story, curious as when they were children waiting to hear more of the fairytales Enjolras’ mother shared with them. Enjolras’ heart swelled, and for a moment he could almost forget his own distress. “We kissed, but the curse bounced back on me since he didn’t believe in the true love’s kiss--and nor did I, for that matter.”

“Ah, so Grantaire was the man you wanted to discuss with me,” Courfeyrac said with amusement. Cosette turned to him and quickly slapped his hand, but Courfeyrac could only laugh. “Had I known you were interested in him, I’d invited the two of you to accompany me to dinner. He’s quite smart and witty. He’s made me laugh on more than one occasion, though he seemed rather guarded, at least more so than his friends.”

“He mentioned having met you.”

“We often attend the same club. Even Combeferre has met him,” Courfeyrac concurred. “So if your concern is whether he could be interested, I can assure you, there’s nothing you should worry about.” 

Cosette chuckled, her eyes drifting to the sky before them. “It’s such a lovely and comforting thing,” she whispered, “to know your friends are all very much like you.”

Enjolras smiled and walked close to her. He gently placed a paw on her forehead, then turned to Courfeyrac, still grinning widely. “I didn’t think to analyse how I felt regarding him until it was too late. He had taken me to dine with him to a little rat restaurant, and my stomach decided to turn into a puppy’s playground.”

Cosette laughed, then carefully pet Enjolras’ head. “You know, I think one of my biggest concerns after my mother and I moved to America was that I wouldn’t be here to witness your first love. How lucky I must be to have returned right in time.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but he smiled nonetheless--something he found himself to be doing so much lately, especially in matters that regarded Grantaire. His stomach twisted. “It’s a shame my judgement was too clouded to realise Grantaire must have been interested as well. Now so long has passed since we last spoke, and there’s only so little time we have left before we can break our curse. Though I suppose we can be together like this nonetheless.”

Courfeyrac turned to him, his head tilting slightly as he studied him. He opened his mouth to speak, a daring notion already forming on his lips. Enjolras didn’t dare to listen to it. “Enjolras, if you care about him so much, why don’t you seek him out? I’m fairly certain he misses you as well, and would like it if you were the one to find him. My father I can easily distract in your absence, but I can’t break this curse for you.”

Cosette sat up from where she lay, her eyes glinting in the sunlight, the purple dress she wore swaying as she moved. “I very much agree with Courfeyrac,” she said softly. “You have been granted a beautiful fairytale to be a part of, so take this chance and write yourself a happy ending. In fact, it’s odd that you haven’t done it already. This is you, Michel. That’s all you ever do.”

Enjolras meditated on Cosette’s words, his heart palpitating loudly against his chest. He shared a look with his friends, both of which gave him an encouraging nod, then turned to the door where Éponine spoke vividly with another man. Enjolras tilted his head, curious, but he shrugged it off until the two of them walked towards him, determined. 

Enjolras had seen the man a few times before; he wasn’t a regular customer at La Maison Rosé, but he had been to the place more than once. He was older than Enjolras and his friends, but not by many years. He was tall, and admittedly quite strong--if the figure under his vest was true to him, and had a finely grown mustache decorating his handsome face. He stared at Enjolras, his eyes wide and bemused, before he took a hesitant step towards Enjolras and his friends.

“You must forgive me for interrupting such a lovely evening,” the man said, his voice breaking, “but there’s a matter I wish to talk to you about, as I am sure you’ll find it easier to help me.”

Enjolras turned to Éponine, who stood in the doorway that lead to the garden, her expression solemn. Enjolras was aware of how uneasy she had grown as Cosette had stepped into the room--not quite sure how to behave around her, constantly tugging at the wrinkles of her skirts, and looking to Cosette for approval; but this time her expression had grown dark, almost worried.

“What is it?” Enjolras asked then, a lump forming in his throat.

“It’s Grantaire,” the man responded--Bahorel, if Enjolras was correct. “He had left our apartment earlier this morning with the excuse of needing to see you, but Monsieur Thénardier took hold of him and fled the scene. I haven’t seen him since.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some interesting facts: that magazine Éponine was reading at the beginning of the chapter was a popular lesbian magazine of German origin, published from 1924 to 1033. The magazine published short stories and novellas, but also provided advertisements of lesbian nightspots, and women could place their personal advertisements for meeting other lesbians. 
> 
> There's only one chapter and an epilogue left after this. Hope you guys have enjoyed so far!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter before the epilogue, I hope you guys enjoy <3

It was always at the Passage D’Enfer where Enjolras and Grantaire’s stories seemed to cross. It was at the Passage D’Enfer where they had met for the first time, where Grantaire had encouraged Enjolras to dance only to be encountered with a frown and a shrug that pushed him away. It was where Enjolras and Grantaire encountered each other again, over a year later, only for Enjolras to tell Grantaire and his companion to go away. It was where Enjolras and Grantaire were chased down by Monsieur Thénardier, to later be found by Éponine in the midst of their despair. And, most importantly, it was where their stories would finally come into a conclusion.

Enjolras and his friends sought Grantaire and the man who had taken him captive for hours, searching through every corner of Paris, splitting into pairs so their search would prove more productive, but none of them could find any answers as dusk settled. 

Bahorel, as he had introduced himself, had explained with extensive detail how Grantaire had gone looking for Enjolras in the morning, wishing to aid him in the preparation of the evening’s party--more specifically, aiding him in the cooking of every dish that was to be served at the venue. It was a statement that made Enjolras’ heart swell and brought him distress all the same while Bahorel continued his tale. He thought nothing suspicious of the exchange, and with good reason. It was until Grantaire stepped out of the apartment, a little ahead of Bahorel, that the two of them realised there was a man hiding in the bushes.

Enjolras sat atop the pavement, his head cast down as he thought of Grantaire. He had almost forgotten the danger they had been in only two weeks prior, had only hoped Grantaire had found happiness, and his human body once again as the days had gone by. But Jehan had warned them, had briefly explained how they only had but a fortnight left before they would stay in this state forever, and how Monsieur Thénardier wished to take them captive before they could break the curse, or it would be him who would be taken away to the other side.

Éponine and Cosette sat beside him, both quiet as Courfeyrac and Bahorel discussed the situation and all the paths they could possibly take before it was too late and they had to return to greet Monsieur Courfeyrac and his partying crowd. Enjolras tried not to think of how their remaining time was coming to a close, tried not to think of Grantaire alone and in danger, but his thoughts failed him and he quickly stood up away from his friends.

He realised with a frown that he was standing right in front of La Maison Rosé, the tables and chairs tucked inside, confirming to him that the place was closed for the remainder of the day. It would be open again by next morning, with people Enjolras had grown to know well carrying the front, and taking on any tasks Monsieur Durand would lay atop them with their heads held high. Enjolras thought of the day Grantaire had been cursed, and shook his head to himself, wondering what would have been of them if he had done something differently.

He let out a frustrated sigh, his heart tugging at his chest as he forced himself to look away from the restaurant, when he noticed a strange shadow looming over the corners of the street. He swiftly followed it, his new body serving its proper purpose as he chased a man and a woman down to a small tent. His friends who had noticed him leaving, quickly followed after him, trying not to make too much noise when they acknowledged the figures Enjolras had gone after.

“Enjolras,” Éponine whispered, her voice cautious. She kneeled down behind him, taking him into her hands before he could walk further. The tent, as Enjolras suspected, was painted as a guise to read one’s fortunes, much like the one that disguised the entrance to Jehan’s cottage, but Enjolras knew it was more dangerous than that, with the figures of Éponine’s parents looming over it, and a certain dark air surrounding the entire place. “Allow me to distract them before you walk in there.”

Enjolras’ eyes widened, almost certain Éponine would stop him before making any moves, but he nodded quietly, his eyes drifting to where his friends had all gathered behind him. 

The Thénardiers continued walking further into their tent, too immersed in their discussion to realise the group of young men and women standing behind them. Courfeyrac sat beside Éponine then, his eyes glinting. “Cosette and I could walk to them, asking if they could read our future, before Éponine bursts into the room begging to have a word with her parents,” he explained. “It could work as a distraction as you make your way inside their home to search for Grantaire. If we are cunning enough, we might even manage to pull their eyes away from Bahorel, who could walk inside to aid you and protect you from anything strange.”

Enjolras turned to Éponine, his brows knitting with worry. “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly.

Éponine nodded, determined. “Bring him back to us.”

Enjolras waited behind the tent as Cosette and Courfeyrac crossed their paths towards the Thénardiers, successfully feigning the bewilderment of newcomers. He placed an ear against the fabric, hoping to listen to the conversation, Bahorel standing right beside him. He searched around for a different entrance, when he realised Cosette and Courfeyrac had convinced the couple to show them their fortunes. 

Enjolras and Bahorel exchanged a determined look before they made their way inside the cottage, making sure to only look back when they heard Éponine’s cries.

The cottage, as Enjolras had suspected, was vastly different from the one he had visited only a fortnight ago, with dark walls and decaying furniture decorating it. There was a severe lack of stones in it, but Enjolras found a few herbs stacked around--poisonous, most likely. There was a distinct smell floating around the cottage, something that resembled the smell of something burning. Enjolras tried to follow it--thinking it would give him any sort of clue, then he allowed his two feet to guide him towards the Thénardiers’ kitchen.

There was a bed of roses laying atop the kitchen’s table, with a small rodent lying right in the middle as other flowers surrounding him were slowly going up in flames--a burnt offering. Enjolras noticed with a lump on his throat a group of colourful spirits slowly dancing around Grantaire, their shades of greens, reds and blues driving Enjolras into a frenzy. He hesitated before walking towards them, his eyes drifting slowly as the colours drove him into a trance.

It took a moment for Enjolras to understand what had happened around him, his head still too dizzy. Bahorel had walked up to him, a small, a yellow piece of crystal in his hand. He placed it on the table to push away the spirits, his eyes fueled by determination, and watched as they slowly floated away from the kitchen, screaming as they went. 

Enjolras turned to the door where his friends were all gathered, the old couple writhing between their hands. They slowly let go of the Thénardiers as the spirits returned to the room to take the couple with them. Then the room fell silent.

“He was afraid for you, you know,” Bahorel said after a moment. “He left because he thought he’d be unable to help you break this curse, and guilt consumed him. But he cares a great deal about you. I think he does as much as he you care about him”

Enjolras was aware of his friends’ gazes all slowly turning to him, each of them expecting Enjolras to climb up the kitchen table, but he found himself frozen in place. He could still see Grantaire from where he stood, lying unconscious on the bed of roses, his chest rising and falling as the moments ticked by, completely unaware of all the events that had just happened. Enjolras felt a knot forming in his throat, making him unable to breathe, when Cosette and Éponine walked over to him, and took him in between their hands.

They gently placed Enjolras on the table, their eyes turning dubious as all three of them gazed upon Grantaire. Enjolras hesitated before walking over to him, his heart beating fast against his chest. He placed a paw upon Grantaire’s forehead, hoping the gesture was more than enough to wake him from his stupor, but he remained unconscious, unmoving, and Enjolras took a deep breath.

“Grantaire,” he said quietly, his voice breaking. “Grantaire, you ought to wake up, our friends are all gathered here, waiting to see you.”

Grantaire remained unmoving, his body stiff, but Enjolras could still recognise the gentle rise and fall from his chest. Enjolras softly caressed his cheek, his vision clouding as hot tears formed in his eyes.

“Grantaire, please, you have to wake up, we haven’t seen each other in so long,” he begged. When he found no response, he shook his head, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I know you’re still there,” he said more quietly, hoping for only Grantaire to hear. “I… I need to talk to you, I need you to come back so I can tell you how much you mean to me, how much more time I wish we could spend together, getting to know each other.”

Enjolras placed another hand across Grantaire’s chest, the beating of his heart slowly decreasing as the minutes went by. Enjolras couldn’t imagine what the Thénardiers had given him to keep him in such a state, but he wasn’t going to let them win, not when Grantaire’s life was at stake. He took a deep breath and turned to him again, determined.

“Grantaire, I know you’re still there,” he repeated, “and I need you to trust me. What I’m about to do… I’ll need you to believe in me.”

He nodded to himself, his brows furrowed slightly as he leaned towards Grantaire. He didn’t dare look at his friends, not when they could very easily stare at him as he went to kiss Grantaire. He didn’t want to think of an audience, he only wished to bring Grantaire back to him, like all the heroes from the stories his mother read to him when he was a child. He remembered, vaguely, the story of the princess who had turned into a mouse, and how with a single kiss from the boy she had grown to really like, the world had returned to its usual rotation.

Enjolras pressed a kiss against Grantaire’s lips--chaste and rather hesitant, but full of all the emotions Enjolras had experienced in the past month; the ones that constantly tugged at his chest, the ones that made his stomach flip with a single word from Grantaire. He waited patiently for colour to return to Grantaire’s body, his heart aching for a single word to drop out of his mouth, but nothing happened. 

Enjolras let out a frustrated sigh and closed his eyes, when suddenly the entire world around him turned into beautiful flashes of light.

Had he ever been asked, Enjolras would respond that magic wasn’t at all what he imagined. He had grown to accept that it was mostly stones and herbs, things he had seen plenty of times before from Éponine and Combeferre; a few strange curses, if he went to dive further, but never at all what he had seen that night. The magic engulfed all of them, going from splashes of greens to pinks to reds to purples, a beautiful palette Enjolras was certain Grantaire would love. It flickered across his chest, covered his face, brought him warmth and cold altogether, until, finally, the world went quiet again.

He turned to look around curiously, searching for his friends, when he realised Éponine and Cosette--who stood right beside him, had grown rather shorter than himself. He searched around seeking Grantaire, when his eyes landed on a young man, not that much older than him. His curly hair fell from his head disheveled, gently caressing each of his cheeks. His clothes, though gallant and expensive, looked a bit torn apart from use, but dapper enough to attend a lavish party. There was a stone in his hands, a bright blue glinting through the room--the stone of truth Jehan had given to him. His eyes, brown and bright, widened with surprise when he gracefully placed his hand on Bahorel’s shoulder, acknowledging that once again he was human, the handsome violinist Enjolras had once scolded away from the restaurant he worked in.

They locked eyes for a moment, both unable to muster any words, before they walked towards each other, embracing into a tight hug as reality dawned on them. Enjolras had never imagined what it would be like to hug Grantaire, not when for a great deal of their time together he was but a small rodent; but as Grantaire nuzzled his head between his shoulder and the crease of his neck, Enjolras found it was one of the nicest sensations he had ever experienced. The first one being that of a kiss.

He turned to Grantaire then, more resolute than he had ever been, and pressed his lips against Grantaire’s. He didn’t care for his friends watching them intently, not when Grantaire’s lips caressed his, soft and eager. It wasn’t precisely what Enjolras had expected, not quite so as Courfeyrac had once described; in actuality it was far greater than any kiss from the fairytales Enjolras listened to as a child--something far more magical than the burst of colours that had surrounded them a few minutes prior. It was perfect, in every sense of the word, tender and passionate altogether, the kind of kiss you would tell in a story that would impact others forever, and stay at the corner of their hearts.

Michel Enjolras wouldn’t forget this story, not for the rest of his life.

* * *

Enjolras and his friends returned to the Courfeyrac household before nightfall, all happy and eager to find their friends and family gathered around singing and dancing as the new moon hid in the sky. The place was as crowded as Enjolras imagined, with jazz music and the clinking of glasses filling the room. 

Combeferre stood in the midst of it all, a tray full of champagne glasses lying on his hand. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed all his friends walking towards him, each of them carrying a grin as bright as the sun, before his lips broke into a disdainful scowl. He questioned their whereabouts, explaining how Monsieur Courfeyrac had been inquiring after them all day, telling him to carry all of Enjolras’ plans on his shoulders for the remainder of the night. Courfeyrac took the tray for him and placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring.

“You would not believe what just happened,” he said with amusement, his eyes drifting to Enjolras and Grantaire, who stood in between their group smiling widely. When Combeferre acknowledged them, he returned their smile. 

“I’m glad you’ve returned safely, I was beginning to worry about Grantaire’s well-being.”

“Of course they’ve returned safely, my dear Combeferre, they had us with them to aid them all the way,” Courfeyrac said slyly, then turned him away from his friends, but not far enough for them not to be able to hear. “Now tell me, has Monsieur Pontmercy come to attend the party? I’m afraid I can’t find him amongst such a big crowd.”

“You haven’t told me the whole story about this Monsieur Pontmercy of yours, and I beg that you do so at once,” Combeferre protested, allowing himself to be led away from their group of friends. “Is he not the young man who recently moved to Paris, the man your father has continuously complained about in the past month? I believe the rumours have spread of him throwing parties without ever extending the invitation to your family.”

“The parties he throws in hopes to find the love of his own, you mean? Of course he didn’t invite _ my father _ to those, but allow me to tell you, finally, the entire story.”

Enjolras watched intently as his two dearest friends disappeared into the crowd, both chatting vividly about whatever new conquest Courfeyrac had surely landed. Bahorel, who had accompanied them all the way to the party, drifted away as well as he came to find none other than Joly and Bossuet dancing with the lovely Musichetta. They greeted him with a wide grin, Musichetta holding both men in between her arms. When they locked eyes with Enjolras and Grantaire, they waved to them as greeting before resumed their chit chat.

Cosette turned to him then, a small blush spreading across her cheeks as she moved closer to Enjolras to speak. “Your friend is quite lovely, by the way. I can’t believe I didn’t come to you so I would meet her sooner.”

Enjolras grinned. “You should talk to her more,” he said. “You might as well find you’ve known her for much longer than you expect. It might end up being a fairytale of your own, if you seek this story.”

Cosette looked at him, perplexed, then nodded determinedly. “You are quite right, my dear friend. I should talk to her more.”

Enjolras watched as Cosette took Éponine’s hand in hers, both of them turning to a lovely shade of pink while Cosette led Éponine amidst the crowd to the stage where a microphone awaited them. Enjolras hadn’t known in all their years of friendship that Éponine was quite adept at singing too, and he regretted never having asked her to sing for them at La Maison Rosé before. 

He turned to Grantaire then, happy and resolute, willing to let the night run its course without his interference if it meant to spend a moment of joy with him, when his mother placed a hand on his shoulder--her eyes full of so many questions that Enjolras wasn’t sure he knew how to answer.

“Michel,” she said softly, “did you plan all of this because you wanted to build a restaurant for me as a birthday surprise? Monsieur Courfeyrac has spoken with me all evening, and I cannot say I’m surprised, but rather touched and a little distressed over your lack of sense when it means to overwork yourself.”

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his, his smile widening as his mother’s eyes shifted to Grantaire. “I had a little help.”

She studied the two of them, how their hands remained clasped, then she slowly shook her head, a small smile spreading through her lips. “I’m proud of you,” she uttered for only Enjolras to hear, then pressed a kiss to each of their cheeks before she rejoined Madame Courfeyrac and Madame Fantine, who chatted idly amidst the crowd, their pink and purple dresses swaying as they laughed.

When they were once again alone, Grantaire shifted closer to Enjolras, their hands still intertwined. “If you will do me the honour, I believe you owe me a dance.”

Enjolras let out a laugh, but he nodded, a tad perplexed. “We could go to Félix’ room again, and dance on the balcony all by ourselves. We could steal some food from the kitchen’s pantry and have some wine of our own. No one else would find us there.”

“Are you sure Monsieur Courfeyrac won’t mind if you disappear for the remaining of the night?” Grantaire asked, his eyebrows knitting with concern. 

Enjolras turned to the man who stood proudly beside the stage. He locked eyes with Enjolras for a moment, and offered him a nod of approval, his eyes glinting with pride. “No, I don’t believe he’ll mind at all.”


	8. Epilogue

**1927**

  
  


It all began--as all great fairytales do--with a tragic curse set upon two young lovers who sealed their fate with a true love’s kiss, or what was most similar to it at least.

Two years had passed since Michel Enjolras first encountered such a thing, two years since he had first kissed Grantaire and stepped into the life of his dreams. He stood quietly in front of the chef of his restaurant, a delicious plate of crêpes lying before her. He had spent the entire evening cooking it for her, a birthday surprise he had set himself to prepare as the date approached. She eyed it inquisitively, her own eyes closing as she took in the appetizing smell of the dish.

He looked back at Cosette and Éponine, who stared at him and his mother, eager to find an answer. They had been hired by Enjolras and his mother to be the main source of entertainment for the place, their duets proving to be among the most successful in Paris. They had taken on the lead enthusiastically, longing to help Chez Musain in any way they could. When Marion Enjolras took a bite from her crêpe, they walked towards them curiously.

Enjolras’ mother closed her eyes and gave her nod of approval, and the crowd that filled the restaurant burst into a round of applause--the regular customers shouting their congratulations at Enjolras and his mother for their excellent service, and a greeting for Marion’s birthday.

Enjolras returned to the kitchens, a wide grin spreading through his lips as he greeted little Gavroche and little Juliette who sat atop the shelves with their own plates in hands--waiting for Enjolras to serve them their meal. He shook his head and took their plates to hand them the crêpes he had promised to save for them. Juliette quickly uttered a small thank you on her way, her brown eyes glinting as she took a bite from the dish, reminding Enjolras of the first time he had cooked pasta for Grantaire.

He walked towards his office, his heart swelling with pride, when he noticed a hint of violin music playing outside his window, slowly coming closer to play beside Enjolras. It was a song he had become quite familiar with, a love song that had been dedicated to him on more than one occasion, a song that Grantaire had written for him.

He peeked through the window as Grantaire began to sing, his voice sending a thrill through Enjolras’ spine. He smiled eagerly and waited for Grantaire to finish his song before he pressed a kiss against his beau’s lips, a kiss that was not less magical than the first, but certainly more fervent and full of love--a love that had bloomed more ravishingly over the years.

“My dearest,” Grantaire whispered before his lips broke into a sly smile, “I’d been wondering if perhaps it would be possible for this restaurant to welcome a violinist as their entertainer for a day or two. I’ve been swarmed with work over the past few months, so I forgot to ask, but a friend of mine asked for me to give a concert and I couldn’t think of a more perfect avenue.”

Enjolras chuckled, his own smile mimicking Grantaire’s as he pressed another quick peck on his lips. “Éponine and Cosette have taken hold of most days of the week, but I’m almost certain we can schedule something for next Friday. After all, it seems to me this violinist might have stolen the heart of one of the owners of this restaurant.”

Grantaire kissed him again, more eagerly, before nuzzling his nose against Enjolras’ neck. “I must be the luckiest man then.”

Enjolras took Grantaire’s hand in his and pressed a kiss against his knuckles, his heart immediately warming as Grantaire’s eyes locked with his--brown and beautiful, and full of love and adoration, ready to let their story unfold and continue, with both at the other’s side. “As am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this story has finally come into an end, it's been in the back of my mind for the past two months. Originally it was meant to be a story where Enjolras had been cursed to stay as a statue at the Palais Garnier (along with Combeferre and Courfeyrac), but I found the romance was really lacking and the whole "true love's kiss" didn't seem very realistic because the pacing of the romance just wasn't good enough. But I still wanted to write a 20s au with a true love's kiss and I thought a princess and the frog au was very fitting to their dynamic. I changed a lot from the movie of course, but I'm hoping it was a good rendition to the movie.
> 
> I picked Montparnasse for the story to take place in (at least for the most part) because of its heavy cultural part in the 20s. It was also one of the neighborhoods with most gay spaces along with Montmartre, and I'll be honest, I thought it would be an excellent addition to have Jehan offer his witchy services near the catacombs.
> 
> I recently commissioned my friend [ Bubble](https://bubleboobo.tumblr.com/) to draw the final scene from this epilogue. You can look at it [ here](https://eponinearchive.tumblr.com/post/187442841484/i-commissioned-my-friend-bubleboobo-to-draw-a). 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this fic, and I hope you enjoyed reading it too! Thank you so much for coming this far, let me know your thoughts on the story!
> 
> <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this fic, I hope it was enjoyable! You can also find me on [tumblr](https://eponinearchive.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> I've also done fanart for this fic, which you can find in [here](https://eponinearchive.tumblr.com/tagged/20s-au).


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